uzro

[winnie-zero]

[ heated h0micide ]

"it's you and me."

song: all the things she said

[winnie-zero]

[ heated h0micide ]

"it's wrong, it's bad, and we shouldn't."

song: all the things she said

software: capcut

[devourride]

₊˚⊹♡ a kissed out blue fear.

pairings: benjamin poindexter x fem!reader. word count: 12.2k. summary: everyday feels the same for you, making coffee, going back to your lonely apartment, existing between one moment and the next. but some love arrives like a single bullet, you don’t hear the shot until you’re already on the ground, and it leaves you wondering how you didn’t see the gun. warning tags: nsfw. heavy dark themes. non-con. ddba!dex. tony as dex. barista!reader. semi character study of pairing. older dex (40s), younger reader (20s). stalking. manipulation and gaslighting. implied kidnapping. obsessive and pathetic, needy dex. power imbalance. male masturbation, dex jerks off because he’s a loser like that. coercion cunnilingus, he eats you out as an apology what more do you want!! graphic violence. murder and mild gore. creepy dex alert. hint of fluff if you squint hard enough. every explicit scene is dex in his bullseye costume, sue me. requested: this shit came to me in a dream, so no. but reqs are open! mads says: i hadn’t intended for this fic to be this long, but i need benjamin poindexter in my life and i’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. rewatching all daredevil series made me the person i was when i wrote this one shot (in heat). anyway, enjoy! let me know what you think.

Dex thinks humankind are just insects, they live a bit and then die and that’s the lot. There’s no mercy in things, there’s not even a great beyond. There’s nothing—his hatred for all was so intense that it should extinguish the very love from which it was conceived. And thus, Dex ceased to feel. There was nothing further in which to believe that made the prospect of feeling worthwhile.

He discovered this about himself at sixteen, in one summer, when the headmaster of the Lyndhurst Home for Boys had stopped breathing mid-sentence at the supper table, collapsing. The other teenagers had wept—great, heaving, theatrical displays of grief that had struck Dex as almost pornographic in their excess. He watched them, and felt nothing. Not sadness nor relief, not even the mild satisfaction of witnessing an inconvenience remove itself from his path.

Nothing. The word had felt like a gift, unwrapped and held up to the light. An absence so complete it became its own presence. 

He drinks his coffee sweet and creamy and hasn’t touched another person’s body by choice in years. Still, it isn’t loneliness because loneliness implies lack, and Benjamin Poindexter lacks nothing he wants. 

What he wants is the problem.

Or rather—what he wants has never arrived, never been existing, never known to man. He’s had chances to watch desire from the outside, the way one might study a fugitive through a binoculars; flushed cheeks of couples when they argue on the sidewalk, the trembling hands of teenagers when they confess their petty infatuations, the way his elderly neighbour’s voice goes soft and stupid when she talks about her late husband. 

For all its grandiose, Dex had never once envied them. All a dim illusion, was it? Surely it was foolish of him to think any of this had meaning. He would then spend hours staring at the night sky, wondering how best to pass the time if everything, even the sky itself, were for naught.

Until you, Dex supposes.

Tuesdays are meaningless to him, they’re depressing. Why are Tuesdays so depressing? 

Dex once read an article on the internet that suggested the most productive day of the work week is Tuesday, which only proves that productivity is a disease and humans are its willing hosts. He has nothing against Tuesdays specifically, only against the assumption that any day should matter more than another when all of them end the same way; in silence, and the mechanical act of loading his sniper just to feel the magazine seat properly against his palm.

Dex had been counting his days into laying low. The AVTF has his face on file, his fingerprints, his particular brand of violence listed and cross referenced. He wants Wilson Fisk dead, so Dex waits. He takes the apartment with low rent, because it has windows facing the street so he could see, also because the landlord asked no questions when Dex paid him cash and a knife to his throat, the walls are thin enough to hear the couple next door fuckin, and the nice old woman below watching the same game shows on repeat. White noise. The soundtrack of people living their insignificant, dying lives. 

But he also needs his coffee, that’s the whole of it. Need is a strong word—want is more accurate, but want means appetite, and Dex has never had much of that either. He simply knows that caffeine sharpens certain neural pathways, and he’d been sitting in the dark for three hours, rolling a catholic token across his knuckles, for his hands have begun to feel like they belong to someone else.

The coffee shop’s name was as basic as it looked like. Dex has been a frequent customer here and it wasn’t because the coffee was exceptional, no—it was entirely something else. Shop’s almost empty, too. A man in a beanie taps at a laptop in the corner. A woman with grey hair reads a paperback so worn its spine has split into three distinct sections. Dex’s gaze sweeps over the vastness of the area, looking for someone until it lands to who he was looking for.

There you are, Dex thinks. He’s smiling. Between his plans, the surveillance, and the hunt to eliminate Kingpin’s circus, AVTF—there are gaps. Hours that belong to no one but himself.

Dex spends them watching you.

You were behind the counter, wiping down the steam wand with a rag that’s seen better days. Your hair is pulled back, a few strands escaping to frame your face. You weren’t looking at him—you haven’t even noticed him yet, and you were humming under your breath, some song Dex couldn’t name if his life depended on it, the sound travels through the ambient noise of the café.

Dex approaches the counter and his posture shifts; shoulders dropping, spine relaxing, it was a deliberate imitation of ease.

“Good morning,” he greeted along with your name, Dex’s eyes drifted to the name tag on your chest, just long enough to prove he looked, and then his gaze returned to your face again. 

“Oh—hi, Tony,” you say almost delightfully, and there’s a flicker of recognition in your eyes. “The usual?” 

Months ago, you didn’t know his face. Then weeks later, you have come to learn his order and fake given name. Today, you have christened it the usual, as though his presence here has weight, that his absence would have left a hole for you. Dex feels a smile try to happen, but he swallows it down. 

“Yes,” he replies. “Please.” Because Dex is good like that. He wants to be that—for you. He wants to be anything you want him to be. If only you would allow him.

You nodded and turned to the espresso machine, your back half turned to him as you reached for the portafilter. Dex stood at the counter watching the movements of your hands—your efficiency to tamp the grounds, and the slight tremor in your left wrist that suggested either fatigue or a healed injury, he watched you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and revealed the soft hollow just below it.

You’ve been working here for six months, and Dex knows this because he’s learned the schedule changes taped to the back office door, visible through the crack when the manager leaves it ajar. Tuesday through Saturday, opening shift. You take your break at ten, give or take four minutes, spending it in the alley behind the dumpster with a paperback book and a lit cigarette placed between your lips, taking long drags.

Dex also has learned the titles of these books you’ve been bringing to work. He’d read all of them, sometimes after he comes home from killing some of the AVTF agents, his laptop open on his kitchen table while the camera feeds from your apartment, appearing on a secondary monitor.

He installed those three weeks ago. 

It had been remarkably simple, your building’s security was a god damn joke—a buzzer system that could be bypassed with a paperclip and a landlords’ indifference that bordered on criminal negligence. Your apartment was a studio type on the third floor; one doorman, and a few old cameras in the hallway. Dex let himself in on a random day, when he knew from two weeks of observation you would be out meeting your friends, and your downstairs neighbour, Mr. Hargrove, would be watching his late-night Westerns loud enough to cover any incidental noise. 

The cameras were small. Disposable. It was the kind Dex could buy with cash at four different electronics stores across the city, assembling the components piecemeal so no single transaction would register. He placed one in the smoke detector above your bed, one in the charging block you kept plugged in by the microwave, and then in the spine of a cookbook on your shelf that you had never opened. 

Careless, he thinks, and the word carries no judgment, only perception. You are careless. You leave your curtains half open at night, offering anyone with eyes a view of your living room. You check your phone while walking home, earbuds in, oblivious to the world around you. You never look over your shoulder nor do you ever cross the street to avoid a stranger. 

You are, in every measurable way, a target waiting to be acquired.

What if somebody follows you? Dex wanted to confront. What if somebody learns your routine, memorizes your schedule, watches you through the gaps in your defenses? What if somebody is already watching—and you have no idea? You should be more careful, he thinks as he stands inside your living room while on the other side of the room you sleep peacefully. You don’t know who’s watching. 

If he were a different kind of man—if he were the kind of man he is warning you against, Dex could do anything to you, and you wouldn’t even wake until it was too late. 

“How’s your day going?” you suddenly ask, snapping him back to reality, you slide the finished cup across the counter. Your fingers brush his, brief—electric. His cock twitched at the contact.

What should he tell you? His day has consisted of three hours of surveillance on a AVTF supply route, forty five minutes of strength training, a cold shower in which he imagined your hands running wet on his back, and the slow torture of cleaning his sidearm while listening to the couple next door argue about whose turn it was to buy groceries. 

Dex didn’t think you wanted to hear any of this, did you? He wondered what your reaction would be if he said what he was thinking. 

“It was eventful,” he says instead. “But almost quiet.” 

You nodded like you understand. “Those are the best kind,” your lips turn up slowly, soft expression. “The quiet days.” 

Dex wants to say something back. Wants to explain his version of quiet days are the dangerous ones, where his thoughts get loud, the buzzing in his head threatens to turn into worse—rage, grief, or the type of wanting that has no object and therefore no end. 

But you were looking at him with those eyes—those innocent eyes that have somehow become the only fixed point in his drifting, Dex finds that he cannot contradict you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” a hopeful tone in your voice, he noticed. 

Dex nodded, smiling. Showing his teeth. “I wouldn't dream of being anywhere else.”

His hands are shaking and he’s inside your apartment—where you undress, where you sit in your chair with your back to the window and your face turned away from the world. The air smells faintly of you despite your lack of presence, and it makes his chest tighten. Everything about him hurts.

Dex almost died today.

Although he knows he wasn’t ever going to, not like that, at least. He couldn’t, especially now that he’s found his north star. But the AVTF has gotten faster, smarter. Someone has been feeding them information, and he has a short list of suspects, in which all of them will be dead by the end of the month, Dex guarantees. And yet, that’s not what matters right now—what matters was the shit that happened in the second between hearing the shot and dodging it.

He thought of you. 

Your name fallen on his busted lips, your face blooming in his peripheral vision like a dark flower. His brain is tricky sometimes, it offered him a vision of the future—your expression, three days from now, glancing at the door of the coffee shop, waiting for a man who would never walk through it again. You wouldn’t understand why you felt the absence so acutely ( you don’t even know his real name ) but you would feel it. Emptiness. And eventually, you would stop waiting, and you would take someone else’s order, remember them instead of his, then you would have forgotten him entirely. Dex can’t allow that.

You have no one if he dies. He’s already checked. No partner, no roommate, no family that calls more than once a month, plus, you only have three friends you see on rotations. You are alone in this city, and the city is a mouth full of teeth with Dex’s only hand reaching into it. 

The idea of dying would mean leaving you unprotected, the thought of someone else’s hands on you, someone else’s eyes gawking, makes the shaking in his hands feel like rage.

You’ve made him yours, even if you don’t know it. You’ve given Dex a reason to wake up in the morning that wasn’t spite nor the grind of survival. He will not let that go—he will not let you go. Even if it meant he has to crawl back from the grave to watch over you, Dex will. 

He’ll appear in full gear, the armor of ugly indefinite livability, the real body, alive or decay—he’ll appear like a thundering, and he’ll save you. 

So he’d decided to put a tracker into the lining of your coat for safety purposes, the one you wear every day to work, hangs on the hook by the door. Dex contemplates putting one inside your body, too. Perhaps if it ever comes to that point. He’ll watch you swallow your carbonated drink, and it would have been there, swirling inside you. Unremovable. 

Then he sits on your bed and only for a moment. He wanted to know what it feels like, his long fingers running along your sheets and they are soft—cheap cotton, washed so many times they’ve lost their stiffness. Your pillow still holds the dent of your head, he puts his face there, buried within and inhaled deeply. Dex would offer it all, any trade, any sacrifice, anything to become yours. Maybe he’d cut his soul into a million different pieces just to form a constellation to light your way home.

Dex’s still in his gear, masked face, and his breathing is uneven. The suit feels tighter, somehow, or perhaps it’s the aftermath of the bullet that almost split his skull, his kevlar weave felt warm against his chest, holding the heat of his body from the chase. His knuckles bruised beneath the gloves, there’s blood on his cuff he knew wasn’t his own. 

He doesn’t care about any of that, and instead goes to press his face deeper into your pillow, the scent of you floods his senses. Dex’s breathing changes, heavier. The adrenaline from the fight hasn’t left him and now was being redirected—pooling low in his belly, curling through his thighs, making him ache in a way that has nothing to do with the mild injuries he’s ignoring.

His cock was painfully hard. 

And without thinking, Dex reaches down; his calloused hands fumbling with the armored waistband of his tactical pants until his cock sprang loose; thick and pulsing, already weeping with a bead of pre cum. His fingers wrapped around the length of him and it felt nearly unbearable as it demanded this sweet sweet release that mirrored the buzzing in his ears from the fight. 

He then would lay back, his broad shoulders spreading across your pillows, and gripped himself. His hand was large enough to nearly swallow the girth of his cock, then he’d began to stroke a slow, heavy slide of leathered palm against skin, his thumb tracing the ridge of his tip with pressure. 

“Mm. Fuck,” Dex groaned your name, tasting the blood in his mouth, his gaze drifted towards the empty pillow beside him, imagining your head resting there, innocent eyes staring right back at him. He could come in the mere thought of that, he thinks.

He shut his eyes closed, and tries to visualize your face. All you—you and your kindness, the way you would smile at him every time he comes to the coffee shop, how you never seemed to be bothered that Dex would sit there for hours even if his cup was already finished long ago, and why you never seemed to look at his way. Why don’t you look at him? 

His pace quickened, his breathing turning into shallow hitches that reverberated across your bedroom. Dex didn’t know how to be gentle when his blood was this hot. He grasped himself with a white knuckled intensity, his hand sliding up and down in punishing strokes. Dex’s grunts became more frequent as he jerked himself harder and faster, using his pre cum as lube for the time being.

He wanted to feel the friction—the sheer overwhelming sensation of his own body responding to the memory of you. Dex imagined your hands; those delicate hands replacing his own, your fingers tracing the scar on his cheek before sliding down to claim his cock, or your lips wrapped around his entirety, gagging with tears prickling in the corner of your eyes, motioning him to stop but he’d go on, tell you it’s gonna be okay, that he wouldn’t hurt you like that, then—he’d thrust his hips forward, his cock would reach the back of your throat so deep he’d feel you choke on it. 

“I need you,” he whines feverishly, your name falling on his lips repeatedly, and the pressure built behind his eyes, a mounting tension that reflects the ache in his groin. Dex needed you, even if you weren’t here to witness his desperation. “Fuck—please, I need you—please.”

Dex could feel it then, the familiar yet terrifying surge of a climax approaching, and there was nothing more he wanted than to spill himself into your space, to leave a part of his existence on your sheets. With a sharp, strangled cry that he muffled against the fabric of your pillow, Dex buckled. His body jolted, muscles snapping taut as he came into the thought of you. 

Yours, he thinks over, and the word is a prayer. Yours, yours, yours.

He shuddered violently, his vision blurring as he emptied himself all over, and the hot thick reality of his cum coating the fabric in a humiliating sprawl. Letting out a shuddering exhale, his forehead remained pressed hard against the pillow as the aftershocks of the orgasm rippled through his heavy limbs. He felt drained, utterly revolting.

Dex stayed there for a while, slumped over your bed like a fallen soldier, with his skin slick in a mixture of sweat and the cooling remnants of his release. 

He’ll clean them later, Dex thinks. First, he wants to cherish this moment. 

Everything you do, you do it alone. 

Years ago, you have decided that love was not for meant for someone like you. You had watched your peers catch it like a fever, trading their dignity for the shallow comfort of a hand held in the dark. It’s awful, your watching; the refusal to participate, the ogling and smug superiority, and the approximation of a true desire. It’s fake, you assumed. But it isn’t. Sometimes you can feel them pretending to know love more than you, they’re pretending yes, but it doesn't matter because they’re actually doing it.

There’s no ounce of motivation to form genuine connection so you’d choose to sit in the sidelines instead. You hadn’t remembered a time where you’ve longed for people. Was it when you were a child, full of naivety, purest of heart—never knowing the reality outside the door? You feel like a spectator of your own life. 

You keep trying to slip away from everyone around you, it was written all over your face, and you should have been used to the feeling by then, you reasoned. But the feeling of unbelonging had started much earlier. Since childhood, there had been a glass wall between you and the rest of the world; you saw things in fractures, had noted the way the light died in the corners of the room, or how people used words like ambition to mask their fear of being mediocre.

This job as a barista was eating you alive, but you had no other choice anyway. 

You had friends back home, of course. People you’ve grown up with, people you’ve met during high school—but you have never allowed yourself to let them see the entirety of you. Were you afraid? You supposed, till now, that you are. And you thought that maybe moving to an entirely different city would change that feeling; that you’ll become an entirely different person—you would never feel it anymore. 

You had never felt more alone in your life. The truth was, no matter where you go, you will always be caged within yourself. There’s no escaping you. 

There’s this stranger though. Tony. He comes to the café almost every day at the same time, it’s kind of endearing how he has his own routine even if you don’t know the whole of it. You also think he was attractive, probably a lot older than you, too. He’s nice. Talks to you sometimes when you ask him about his day, nothing of substance but at least he wasn’t creepy. He was just kinda there. 

You were on your way home. It’s late, you’re a little tipsy from the bar you and your friends went to, and the vodka is still warm in your chest, loosening the usual tightness behind your ribs. You could have called a cab or booked a ride, but you decide to walk it off instead. Makes you feel grounded.

Long walks are something you’ve come to enjoy. Back home, it's all you ever did—walking, occupied by the surroundings, letting the city breathe around you while you held your own. The air was chilling, bites at your cheeks, and the sliver of skin between your scarf and your jacket. Then your building comes into view, stairs are endless but you take them one at a time, hand sliding along the banister, your reflection ghosting across the hallway windows. 

Your hands struggle to find the keys, dropped them once on the stoop, and pick them up with clumsy fingers. The lock gives, and finally the door sighs shut behind you.

Inside your apartment, it was dark exactly as you left it. You don’t turn on the light—the streetlamp through your curtains is enough, casting everything in shades of blue and grey. You kick off your heels, then drop your keys in the bowl. Shrugging off your jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door, right where it always goes along with your untouched coat for work.

You were too intoxicated to notice the wrongness of your place, and too alone in your head to feel the weight of someone watching from the corner of your bedroom, pressed against the wall where the shadows are thickest, his breathing slow, deliberately silent.

You shuffle to your bed, and don’t notice the sheets were slightly rumpled more than you left them, but you were too exhausted to register the difference. Your whole body plops down onto the mattress face first, still in your clothes from the bar, and the world spins once behind your closed eyelids before settling into something manageable.

You just… sleep, surrendering to the pull of unconsciousness like stone sinking into deep water, your body heavy and warm and devastatingly unaware. 

Dex knows he should leave. The tracker is in place, and he’s already pushed his luck further than any man would dare, but rationality left him the moment he heard you coming. He stares at you, sprawled across the bed you don’t know he stained with his cum from hours ago. 

Then he moves, his boots make no sound on your floor, crosses the room in a few steps, then lowers himself to his knees beside your bed. His face levels with yours—close enough to feel the warmth radiating from your skin, you smell of liquor and nicotine, something underneath that is just you. Dex can already tell the headache you’ll have come morning, he wonders if you’ll work later or call it off with your boss. 

He could take you right now. That’s the thought that circles his mind like a vulture. Take, take, take. Dex wants to touch you. God, he wants to touch you badly. You’re right there, pliant and warm and so fucking trusting, and the proximity is challenging. Dex has never been good at denying himself anything he truly wanted, but this—you, are different.

Not yet. Not tonight.

And if you saw him—if you opened your eyes and found a masked man kneeling beside your bed, still wearing the remnants of violence on his suit, you would scream and be terrified of him. You would look at him the way everyone eventually looks at him; a monster. 

Dex doesn’t think he could survive that from you. He doesn’t touch, but he leans in anyway, his lips ghosting above your head. 

“Good night,” he muttered under his breath, pressing his lips against your disheveled hair before turning around. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next morning, he arrives at the coffee shop before you do.

This is new for him, a deviation from routine, and Dex doesn’t deviate lightly. He woke at four in the morning because he heard muffled noises from his monitor. He had fallen asleep while watching you, then he realized you had a nightmare, that’s why.

Dex watched you thrash for three minutes before falling back to sleep; your limbs tangling in sheets, and small broken sounds escaping your lips. His hand hovering over the keyboard, fingers twitching with the urge to do something. To wake you, to hold you? He wants to promise you that whatever monster chased you through your dreams, he would kill it.

He couldn’t go back to sleep. So instead, he dressed, walked around for a bit, and then stood near the alleyway outside where you work, waiting. He checks his phone, and the live recording shows you were still asleep, turned onto your side, with one hand tucked under your pillow, he could see your breathing even. No more nightmares. Good. Dex would have hated to see you suffer twice in one night. 

Your male coworker with the septum piercing opens the shop at seven. Lane with a last name he’d already forgotten. Twenty four years old, no girlfriend, and lives alone. He’s done his research, of course. He had to know the people who surrounded you. 

Dex exhales slowly, and the cloud of his breath dissipates into the dark. The boy thinks he’s being subtle with his lingering glances and his casual touches, but Dex sees everything. He sees the way Lane’s gaze drops to your mouth when you’re not looking, sees the way the boy positions himself near you during slow hours, always finding excuses to be in your personal space. Harmless, he tells himself. It’s harmless, though it doesn’t stop the way his jaw tightens every time you indulge yourself in your coworker’s antics.

Was it luck? Timing? Did Lane simply exist in the right place at the right moment, and you decided he was worth your attention? Dex has been coming to this shop for months. He’s been polite and patient. He made himself appear warm and approachable for you, and yet you still look at him like he’s a stranger.

He needs to do something. Kill Lane or finally talk to you properly, Dex doesn’t know—but he needs to make his move.

“You’re early,” you greeted him as he approached the counter, half yawning and your eyes looked exhausted. But you did try to look presentable in front of a customer.

“Hey,” he says with your name, his mouth twitches. “Couldn’t sleep, I thought I’d get an early start.” 

“Me neither,” you admitted, and your voice seemed quieter now, more private. “Hangover and bad dreams.” 

“Tell me about it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t remember anymore. Just the feeling… you know the type that sticks around after you wake up? Yeah, that’s—I mean, yeah. Sorry. Uh, the usual?”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” there’s something almost boyish in the way Dex fumbles over the words, desperately attempting to sound genuine like a person who understands what you’re feeling, but the effort shows he’s trying. “It must have been hard, really hard.” 

“It’s okay,” You shrug, a small and worn down gesture. “Comes with the territory.”

Dex inhaled a breath. “What territory?” 

“Being human, I think.”

You look at him, your gaze traced the soft creases of his eyes, lined by pretty lashes, the way you did the first time, when you smiled and asked if he’d had a long night. 

It feels like an affliction when you say it like that, as if it was something you suffer through rather than what you are. Dex has spent his whole life watching everyone from the outside, studying their emotions, their desperate need to matter. He understood them and yet, he had never once felt like one of them. 

Dex wants to tell you that he knows what that feels like, he’s been carrying the same weight, this alienation. Because most mornings, he opens his eyes and waits for the emptiness to fill him, and sometimes it doesn’t, sometimes it does, and either way, he gets out of bed and loads his weapon and pretends to be a person. You’re pretending too. He can see it—the effort behind your smile, the emptiness behind your eyes. You’re pretending you’re not falling apart, and Dex is pretending to be human, neither of you is fooling anyone. 

Except maybe each other. 

He stands there with his hands at his sides and his heart beating too fast, mind racing through all the things Dex wants to say but can’t. He wonders if you know how much you sound like him.

I don’t know how to be human, he wants to say. But I do want to know how to be yours.

“He asked you out? This Tony guy?” Lane says, eyeing Dex from where he’s sitting—hunched over, holding a book you seemed to recognize, in the corner, his coffee cup half empty, pretending not to watch, then Lane gazes back to you. “And you said yes—are you fucking insane?”

“What’s wrong with him? He’s actually nice,” you argue, shaking your head.

Lane’s eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline. “Nice? The guy doesn’t talk to anybody. He sits in the corner for hours and stares at practically nothing. I’ve literally never seen him blink.”

“Well—I mean, he talks to me, you know.”

“Yeah, because he wants to get in your pants.” Lane lowers his voice, leaning across the counter. “Come on, you’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not normal.”

You glance over at Dex, he was reading yet you didn't notice the way his eyes weren’t moving across the page. You’ve seen that book before. Crime and Punishment. You read it once in college, struggled through the dense paragraphs and Raskolnikov’s spiraling guilt. Then some part of you wondered if he had nightmares too. Does he also wake up in the middle of the night with his heart pounding and no one to hold onto, all alone? Perhaps he was lonely as you are—you could understand that. 

“He’s just shy,” you say, turning back to Lane. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“He’s not shy. He’s fuckin weird.”

“You’re weird.” 

“I’m charmingly eccentric. There’s a difference.” Lane crosses his arms, the septum catching light as he tilts his head. “Seriously. You don’t know anything about him. Where does he live? What does he do? Does he have, like, a criminal record?”

You roll your eyes. “Not everyone has a criminal record, Lane.”

“That you know of.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“And you’re being reckless.” his voice softens along with your name, losing some of its teasing edge. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? You’ve been through enough.”

Your expression contorts into something akin to annoyance, Lane has no right to stand there, acting like he’s protecting you from yourself. You told him things because you were lonely—because he was there. Sometimes you say too much when you’re not paying attention, though you wouldn’t consider him as a friend. You’re not even close. Lane is someone familiar, a familiar face in a city where every face is a stranger, and the notion of him acting like he’s more than that feels rather intruding. 

“Thanks for the concern,” you flatly replied. “But I’ve got it handled, Lane. Trust me on this.”

Dex will not show his teeth too quickly, he decided. The date is three days away. Saturday. A dinner at a restaurant you were familiar with—neutral ground, you had said, because you’re cautious without realizing it, some part of you knows that strangers are dangerous even when they seem nice, and Dex appreciated that about you; the instinct, your own self-preservation. He agreed to your terms, of course.

The book in his hands was a prop, he hadn’t read a single word since Lane started running his mouth. Dex didn’t need to, he heard every single word of your conversation. He wants to get in your pants, he could almost snort at that because Lane had no god damn idea. No idea that Dex had already been in your apartment, laid in the intimate spaces of your life while you were completely unaware. Getting to fuck you was a formality at this point, a pleasant inevitability, sure, but not his main objective.

The goal was you, anyway. You wanted to believe Dex was safe, that he was worth the risk, and he was going to give you every reason to keep believing, despite not even knowing his real name.

You would, though. Eventually. When the time was right. When the mask wears off and Dex shows you who he really was—not all at once, never in a way that would terrify you, but piece by piece, until you were too invested to run, too attached to look away, fully his to even think about leaving. He knew you better than anyone ever had, he won’t fuck this up now.

Lane could stand behind the counter with his misplaced protectiveness and his complete ignorance of what Dex was capable of—and still, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

He came early. 

The restaurant was small and kind of intimate, you described it as cozy when you suggested it, your voice casual but your eyes watchful, testing to see if he’d push for somewhere else. Dex didn’t, tells you it sounded perfect, and meant it. His clothes were new and he had worn them tonight, too. He’d stood in the mirror in his place for twenty minutes, staring at his own reflection, trying to remember the last time he bought clothes that weren’t for work.

Dex looks normal, he thinks. Almost human.

He’s spent the extra time studying the exits, assessing the other patrons, and positioning his chair so his back is to the wall and his eyes have a clear sightline to the door. Dex orders water—does not drink it, ice melting as he watches the condensation crawl down the glass like beads of sweat. 

The menu is in his hands but he wasn’t reading it. Instead, Dex’s running through contingency plans. What if you’re late, or worse, you don’t show up at all? His hands clenches at the thought, then relaxes because you wouldn’t do that to him, would you? You already agreed, and you come home alone every night—you were his. 

His doubts had been cleared when he saw you walk in. 

For a moment, Dex forgets to breathe, his gaze sweeping over to trail down your body because you’re wearing a dress. Nothing fancy, it’s a simple one. But the dress had been black and it fell just above your knees, your legs are bare where he could run his fingers along your thigh and find the heat between your legs, and oh, your hair is down too. 

He also noticed that you’ve done something to your eyes—darker than usual, smokier. You look like you're trying not to look like you tried, and the effort makes Dex’s mouth go dry, a growing bulge in his pants but he kept those thoughts locked away.

You spot him and smile shyly, Dex rises from his seat. 

His tenderness toward you had the polished quality of a practiced performance. Dex pulled out your chair, waited until you’d taken your first bite before he touched his own. He asked if you were warm enough, or if you wanted another drink, asked simple questions if the commute here had been okay. 

Each small courtesy landed, and you found yourself relaxing despite your better judgment. 

The wine you were drinking helped, though every so often, you’d catch him looking at you with an expression that didn’t match the gentleness of his voice—intense hunger lingered in his eyes. Made your stomach flip. It would vanish as soon as you noticed, replaced by that boyish smile Dex has. You told yourself you imagined it, you were pretty sure you didn’t.

Still, talking to Dex had been easy, you braced yourself for awkward pauses, for the strange tension of sitting across from a stranger whom you knew his coffee order but not his life. The inevitable moment when conversations would curdle into silence and you’d both stare at your plates like they held the answers to questions neither of you knew how to ask.

None of that happened.

Instead, Dex asked questions that made you feel seen without feeling exposed, and you answered without meaning to, the words falling out of your lips, tumbling into the space between you. And he simply listened, with his eyes never leaving your face. It should have felt invasive, and yet it felt like being wrapped around in warmth. 

“I feel stuck,” swirling your wine glass, elbow on the surface of the table, yet your gaze drifted away on to the strangers around you. “My life feels muffled... static? Somehow, I’m continually surprised when faced with this proof that the world is indeed moving—that it’s barreling forward… possibly without me.”

Dex set down his fork, the metal clicking softly against the plate. “Hm. Maybe you’re not stuck,” he finally offered, uttering your name. “Maybe you’re just waiting. For somethi—someone.” His eyes held yours. “The world doesn’t get to decide if you’re in it or not. You do.”

He doesn’t feel stuck when he’s with you, that’s for certain. Dex has to remind himself to keep his hands flat on the table because what he wants is to hover his hand above yours, and simply caress your softest skin, thumb rubbing in a circular motion, almost soothing. 

He wants to build you a cage, a beautiful one. 

A place where nothing could ever reach you, not the crushing weight of a world that doesn’t see you the way he sees you. Dex would line it with every book you’ve ever loved, make the cage to your liking. Then, he would sit outside it just to watch you. 

Would you like that? Where he’d take your uncertainties, your doubts, everything that makes you feel less—Dex would carry them with him to his grave. You don’t have to worry about anything, because you only need him. 

You laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to show up. No one ever does,” you leaned back in your chair. A strand of hair fell across your cheek, and you didn’t bother tucking it back. “Maybe I’m just not the kind of person people show up for.”

“You have me now, I’ll take care of you.” 

There was a beat of silence after Dex spoke, and in that silence, you felt the strangest urge to apologize. For what, you didn’t know. Perhaps, for making him say it? You had always thought you wanted someone to say something like that to you. To look at you with that kind of certainty and promise you that you weren’t alone, although now that it was happening—you realized you hadn’t prepared yourself for how it would feel. Heavy on the chest. 

His words terrified you in a way. This man was practically still a stranger to you. 

You shook the thought away almost as soon as it came, scolding yourself for being dramatic. Tony was just being nice, saying what people said, and yet you could feel the coldness of your hands, wine glass slippery against your palm. When you glanced up at him through your lashes, he was still watching you, as though you were the only one worth waiting for.

So why did it feel like standing on the edge of a cliff you couldn’t see the bottom of? You tucked your hair behind your ear and looked away anxiously, you didn’t say anything after that. 

Dex must have sensed your discomfort, because when he spoke again, it was to change the topic to somewhat more lighthearted. You felt grateful for that. 

“Can I drive you home?” 

The question hangs in the air between you, soft as smoke. Dex’s voice seemed careful but there’s something underneath it, a current he can’t quite hide. His keys are already in his hand, held loose between his fingers, and he watches your face trying to decipher every micro-expression, your flicker of hesitation.

Say yes, Dex craves in his mind. Say yes, please.

Your gaze finds him, your head a little tipsy from the bottles of wine you’ve managed to consume in one night. Your eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed, and demeanor almost careless. The streetlight catches your face, painting you in a beautiful light, and you’re smiling—a real one, soft and warm and slightly lopsided from the wine.

And Dex thinks he would kill someone for you right now if you asked. Anyone. Anywhere.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

Good, Dex thinks as he opens the passenger door for you. This is good. You’re doing everything right.

He walks around to the driver’s side, his heart beating frantically. Dex steals a glance at you—buckling your seatbelt, fitting into his space like you’d always been there, he allows himself a small grin. A surge of pride blooms in his chest, it was the pride of a man who has devoted months to learning you, watching you, edging into your periphery until you forgot he was ever an outsider.

The city slides past the windows in streaks of neon and darker hues. Dex keeps his eyes on the road, but his attention never leaves you; the sound of your breathing, your head resting toward the window, soft sighs you make when he takes a corner too slowly and you sway slightly in your seat.

Dex’s right hand comes to rest on your thigh, a bold move, yet you don’t pull away from him. A smile crosses his face.

When you reach your building, Dex parks the car and kills the engine. The street is quiet this late, the only sounds a distant siren and the click of his turn signal as he switches it off. You step out onto the curb, and he gets out right after, leaving the silence between you to expand on its own.

You stop at the front door. Your keys are already in your hand, fidgeting with them—twisting the metal between your fingers, the nervous energy rolling off you in unconscious movements. You keep glancing at him and then away, like you’re trying to gather courage for something. It was adorable, Dex thinks as he watches you.

“This was nice,” you finally break the silence, and the softness of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. “I had a nice time with you.”

“I did too. You are beautiful.” 

He doesn’t trust himself to say more, not when you’re standing this close, and the wine has loosened something in you that Dex wants to keep loose, with his instinct screaming at him to close the distance between you and never let it open again.

Your gaze lifts to meet his, and then realize the proximity. How the darkness and the quiet and the wine have conspired to draw you together like magnets, pulling. Your face is close now—closer than Dex allowed himself to imagine during those long nights in his apartment, watching you through his screen, with his right hand wrapped around his cock, memorizing every inch and curve of your body.

He can also see everything from here; fine lines at the corners of your eyes, your pupils have dilated, swallowing the color of your irises. The way your lips are slightly parted, contemplating whether you’re going to speak—or you’re waiting for something.

“Tony,” you whispered, and he almost corrected you. Almost tells you his real name because he’ll do anything to hear the name Dex fall on your lips. 

“Yeah?” his voice comes out rough. 

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lift yourself onto your tiptoes and lean in, reaching for his mouth. 

Your lips press against his, and Dex goes very still, his hands frozen at his sides because he doesn’t know what to do with them. He hasn’t been kissed in years. Hasn’t let anyone close enough to try but your mouth felt warm and sticky from the wine, your scent filling his nose. 

He doesn’t want to scare you, so his hand rises slowly, carefully and settles on your waist instead, fingers curling against the fabric of your dress. You make a small sound against his mouth, surprised and pleased, and Dex takes it as an opportunity to finally move his lips along with yours.

It’s gentle. Dex makes it gentle. But beneath the gentleness is something hungry, desperate, an urge that wants to pull you closer and press you against his firm chest, taste every inch of your mouth until he’s satisfied from it. He doesn’t do any of that. Dex keeps his hand on your waist, his lips soft and his breathing steady, he lets you set the pace. 

His tongue swept past your lips, tasting the faint salt on your skin. One of his large hands came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone with a reverence that made your thighs squeezed together. The other hand pressed flat against the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction closer.

The kiss deepened in waves. Every time you thought you’d caught your rhythm, Dex shifted—tilting his head the other way, angling deeper, his tongue finding new ways to explore the inside of your mouth. His tongue moved against yours in slow strokes, coaxing rather than claiming. You could feel the slight tremble in his fingers where they held your face, his breathing had gone shallow and ragged. 

This was the part Dex couldn’t have planned for; the actual taste of you, the way you whimpered into his mouth, the small sound you made when his teeth grazed your lower lip, nibbling them.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours. Dex’s eyes were still closed. Your lips were parted, glossy and swollen. And for a long moment, neither of you knew what to say, it seemed, but he was holding you close to him that you felt utterly comfortable in his muscular arms. You could feel the heat radiating off from his body alone.

“Goodnight, Tony,” you breathe, gaze averted away to try to hide your already apparent blush. 

Nothing feels like always right now. Living on the honey of hope. 

Your back hits the door as it swings shut, and you stand there for a moment, pressed against the door, your fingers tracing your lower lip, reminiscing; the ghost of his mouth. It keeps replaying inside your head. 

You slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, black dress pooling around your thighs, and a laugh escapes your lips. You press the heels of your palms against your eyes and smile so hard your cheeks ache. You feel like a fucking teenager. Sort of like every movie you have ever watched and rolled your eyes at, the cliché you’ve dismissed as overwrought or simply not meant for someone like you.

Finally pushing yourself off the floor after a few moments, yet still smiling, floating somewhere above your own body. You kick off your heels and leave them by the door, then wander to the bathroom. You saw a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, you look ridiculous, but you’ve never looked blissful in years.

Happy. When was the last time you applied it to yourself without irony? You can’t recall. So much of you has been surviving for so long that you forgot people did more than that. They went on dates, held hands, and kissed while the city slept around them. They felt giddy, hopeful.

You deserve it, don’t you? Yes. This is somewhere to be, for this is all you have, but it’s something. Streets and sodium lights. The sky, the world. You’re still alive, still capable of loving. You’re still human, after all. Tony made you feel one tonight.

You can forget that the world will turn away from you someday, and leave you behind. For now, you’ll settle with this small dream filled exuberance. You cannot wait to prove Lane wrong, you thought as you washed your face, then brushed your teeth, pulled on an oversized shirt that used to belong to someone you don’t talk to anymore.

Your limbs feel heavy and light at the same time, weighted down by wine and lifted by something sweeter. You fall into bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin. Has this always been so cold? It didn’t matter, you couldn’t stop smiling. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You ignore it at first. It’s late, you’re still reeling, and you don’t want to come back down. But it buzzes again. And again. Three messages in quick succession, then a fourth. A sigh elicits from your lips, hands reaching for the phone, the screen lighting up your face in the dark.

Aa Lane (12:01 AM): hey i know it’s late but i was scrolling through some old news articles and i swear i’ve seen your coffee guy before Aa Lane (12:01 AM): like not in person but somewhere. Aa Lane (12:02 AM): tony right?? that’s what the fucker told you?? Aa Lane (12:02 AM): look at this and tell me i’m the one being paranoid

Something in your guts tells you to not click the link Lane sent you. It’s the same feeling you used to get as a child walking past a dark room—the instinct that something was waiting for you in the shadows, something that would change you if you looked at it too long. Don’t, don’t, don’t.

But you do. You click the link.

The article loads slowly, cluttered with ads and pop-ups and slow spinning wheels. Yet the headline loads first, bold and black, and your eyes catch on the words before your brain can catch up.

BENJAMIN POINDEXTER SENTENCED TO LIFE FOR MURDER OF PROMINENT ATTORNEY FOGGY NELSON

Oh, fuck.

You scroll down before you can stop yourself, and there it is—a photo. It was a mugshot. His face—Tony’s face. Same sharp jaw, same piercing eyes, same mouth that had been pressed against yours not too long ago. But different, too. Colder. Much emptier. The eyes in the photo don’t look like they’ve ever held anyone gently. You read the words again, former FBI agent, sentenced to life, murder, escaped custody, and they don’t feel real. None of this feels real at all. 

Do not approach. Do not engage. If seen, contact authorities immediately.

You could feel the way your hands started shaking, then comes your whole body; rigid and blood runs cold. You’re frozen and on fire simultaneously. Your hands drop the phone, and it lands on your chest, the screen still glowing, his face still staring up at you with those eyes. Then, a notification popped up once more on your screen. 

Aa Lane (12:10 AM): fuck, i hope you’re safe and home. call me pls 

You stare at Lane’s message, the words blur and sharpen as if your eyes can’t decide what to focus on. And yet, the numbness spreads. Starts in your fingers, those tingling extremities that had been warm against his skin just an hour ago. Then, it travels up your arms, settles in your shoulders, crawls across your chest, your heart is still beating—you can feel it, distant. 

You think the panic has receded, that the fear has gone quiet. Suddenly, your stomach lurches.

It comes out of nowhere; a violent, involuntary spasm that doubles you over on the bed. You press your hand hard over your mouth, and for a terrible moment you think you’re going to throw up. Swallowing hard, once, twice, as your throat works against the rising tide, and eventually, the nausea subsides, residing somewhere low in your belly.

But the sickness doesn’t go away, simply moves. Finding its way into your veins, your bones, you feel poisoned, like an insect has crawled inside you and died. Truly rotten.

Another message.

Aa Lane (12:21 AM): please answer me i’m getting really fucking worried

Your vision becomes blurry—tears, you realize, when did you start crying? Forcing yourself to type back, one word, because it’s all you can manage.

You (12:22 AM): Here. 

The response comes almost instantly. 

Aa Lane (12:22 AM): i’m coming over, wait for me

Tony isn’t real, it was a mantra that repeats inside your head as you wait for Lane. There is no Tony. There’s only ever Benjamin Poindexter—convicted murderer, a man who has killed and will kill again. And somehow, absurdly, you find yourself on the verge of laughter. Because this is your life, isn’t it? This is what you get for daring to hope.

Tonight, you let yourself believe that perhaps, the universe had something good in store for you, and instead, what you were getting was the universe reminding you, yet again, that you don’t get to have nice things—you never did and you never will. The world has a sick sense of humor, you’d almost admire it, if only you weren’t busy falling apart.

Little serpentine slithers its way into your thoughts, mind boggling, what you had never realized earlier, you do now. Fully sobered up.

You never told Tony where you lived.

He drove you home tonight but he’d known where to go. Never asked for directions, nor plugged anything into his phone either. Not a moment of uncertainty, he’d just driven. Like he had done it before—as if he’d been here before. 

Stupid girl, where is your mind now?

Dex watched it happen in real time. 

He saw the way your smile falters, then fades. Watched your hand over your mouth, repulsed by him, swallowed something rotten and now was crawling back up your throat. He knew that look. He had put that look on a hundred faces before yours. But never yours—never yours.

Dex was so careful, so patient with you. He had done everything right, he thinks. He had to have known, on some level, that you couldn’t stay ignorant forever, and still, he let himself believe otherwise. A mere fantasy, was it ever was. Dex wanted it so badly that he convinced himself it could be real.

That somehow your parallel paths converge, and found himself in the arms of your warmth. This emptiness, this nothing inside him consumes the entirety of you, and the promise of normalcy. He wanted to think he would be sated for a lifetime with you, and in all the deaths that exist after. Dex could only blame himself for thinking he could ever be anything else.

And now you know.

His skin starts to burn, an itch to his soul. Dex stands over the body, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths. The alley is darker than the place where Lane’s car still idles, engine humming, door hanging open like a wound. 

There’s this satisfied curl of Dex’s lips beneath the mask, seeing Lane on his knees. 

The boy didn’t beg, Dex will give him that much. Didn’t plead for a life he clearly valued, despite all evidence to the contrary. He just looked up at Dex with those wide, stupid eyes.

“I fucking knew it, you piece of shit!” 

The first impact doesn’t satisfy Dex, so he does it again—pulls Lane’s head back and slams it forward, a second crack, this one weaker than the first. Lane’s eyes seemed unfocused now, with his body limp in Dex’s grip. But he doesn’t stop, can’t help himself. He holds Lane against the wall, feeling the boy’s pulse flutter beneath his fingers, and leans in close. 

“You had to run your god damn mouth, didn’t you?” his voice barely a whisper, seething. Meant only for Lane, to be the last thing he hears before life fades from his eyes. “You had to take her away from me, make her afraid. You just couldn’t help yourself to be the savior, hm?” Dex pauses. “She’s not gonna fuck you, Lane—she wants me. And I’m going to take something from you, too.”

“She should be terrified of you,” Lane had spat back, words almost slurred, blood already dripping from his split lip. “You’re a fucking killer.” 

“Yes,” Dex’s toothy grin shows. “I am. I’ll show you.”

He had half a mind to leave Lane bleeding out here.

The boy was done for anyway; cracked skull, blood seeping from his hairline, eyes struggling to focus on a world that was already slipping away. He wouldn’t last an hour, maybe not even the half. He can walk away now, because all he ever wanted to do, what burned in his chest was to come over to your apartment and apologize.

Never mind the bloodied mess he made on his suit, he’d fall to his knees and make you understand. He’ll tell you everything, the truth, the ugly, this impossible truth of what you’d become to him. You had reached something inside him he thought had died years ago, scraped out, buried, and mourned by no one.

You have me, Dex would say. You have all of me. The good parts, the bad parts, the parts that have done terrible things. They’re yours. They’ve been yours since the first time you met me. Dex needed to believe he could make you understand, because the alternative was unbearable. It would crack him open, spill whatever was left of his humanity onto the floor, and there would be no putting it back together.

Deciding he’s running out of time before you could be out of his reach, Dex turned away from Lane’s crumpled body, already calculating the fastest route to your building, and then this fucker just had to speak once more. 

“She’ll know.”

He halted in his steps. Listening.

“She’ll know,” Lane repeated, stronger now, forced through lips that were swelling. “She’ll hate you for the rest of her fucking life, for what you did to me—for what you are. That’s the best damn thing I’ll ever do,” Lane laughed. It was a terrible sound, wet and gurgling, half-choked on his own blood. “Make sure she knows exactly what you are. A monster. A fucking monster in a mask who thought he could pretend to be normal. Creepy fuckin asshole.” 

The rage that flooded through Dex was cold, then his hand moved before he consciously decided. With the knife in his palm, flying through the air, spinning end over end, simply knowing where it would land—his blade buried itself in Lane’s throat.

Lane’s eyes went wide, his hands flew to his throat, grasping at the hilt, to the blood that was already pouring between his fingers. He let out an inhumane sound, gasping for air, clawing his way to escape death. That’s what Dex loves about this, when severe pain has caused men to lose their air of arrogance, and only then, realizing that life was already out of their grasp.

Dex walked toward him slowly, then crouched down in front of Lane, bringing his masked face level with the boy’s. Real fear painted across irises, and Dex reveled in this moment of clarity between them. 

“Shh, it’s easier if you don’t fight it.” Dex mocks him, pressing a gloved finger to his own lips, though Lane couldn’t see beneath the mask. Lane’s eyes were wet with tears or blood—Dex couldn’t tell, didn’t care. He then gripped his chin, forcing Lane to look up. “I’ll make sure she won’t ever think about you again. You hear me? I’ll make sure of it. You’re nothing, Lane.”

Dex watched until the boy’s eyes went still, his hands fell away from his throat, body slumped sideways, collapsing onto the wet pavement, the knife still buried in his throat. Then Dex stood up, wiping his gloves on his thighs like he had touched something dirty, removed the mask to give himself a moment to breathe.

“Good bye, white knight.”

He had to come find you now. Dex would make sure you didn’t wait long.

You had a knife in your hand, it seemed. 

It’s not a good knife, not like his. This is a kitchen knife, the kind that comes in a set, and the blade is short, its handle plastic, and your grip is wrong—too tight, your thumb wrapped over the top instead of resting along the side. You could hurt yourself, Dex worries. You’re going to cut your palm open if you decide to finally swing at him.

Dex stands in the shadows of your living room, watching you through the archway that separates your kitchen from the rest of your life. You haven’t seen him yet, because your back is half turned, shoulders hunched, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps that he can hear from here. You were shaking, he could see it from his standpoint. 

You turn suddenly, and you see him.

The knife comes up—not toward him, not exactly, just up between you, a semblance of barrier made of cheap steel and trembling fingers. His suit is still on, never bothered to change, didn’t see the point of it if you know who he is now. But Dex had taken off the mask, as he wants you to see his face.

“Don’t,” your voice cracks on the word, the knife wobbles in your grip. “Don’t come any fucking closer.” 

Dex slowly raises his both hands, making himself appear harmless. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

An incredulous laugh escapes your throat. “Won’t hurt me? Right, because you’re not a killer—fucking right. Just how stupid do you think I am to believe you?”

It pains him to see you this way, so broken yet admirably brave. Your expression is the most beautiful thing Dex has ever seen, and he would let you use that knife. He would stand still and let you sink it into his chest, if that’s what you needed—if that would make you feel safe. He’ll let you. 

Look at him, if you would be so kind, and find whatever it is you’re looking for, even if it’s not what you wanted to find.

“You matter to me,” it’s the way Dex says your name with such raw, convoluted emotion. “I said I would take care of you, and I meant it. I’m not going to hurt you—I know it won’t ever be enough to believe but I won’t.”

“You’re a liar, you fucking lied to me.”

“I’m not lying—please, if you could just—”

“Everything about you is a lie,” there were tears sliding down your cheeks as you cut him off, and Dex wanted to reach out to wipe them away. “Your name. Your whole life. I don’t even know you. Tony? What the fuck? Who even are you?”

“I was a lot of things.” Dex takes a single step forward, and you stumble backward, your hip catching the kitchen counter, and your knife clatters against the marble, you snatch it up again quickly. “I'm still a lot of things. But I need you to know that I would die before I let anyone hurt you. I would kill anyone who tried—and I know that doesn’t sound like comfort. I know it sounds like the opposite of comfort, but fuck, it’s the truth.”

“Stop,” you shook your head, gaze averted away from him. “Stop talking. You’re sick in the head. You’re—”

“I’m yours,” Another step. Your back meets the refrigerator, and there’s nowhere left to go. “I have been since the first time you said my name.”

“Your fake name.”

“Dex,” he finally says, a thorn being pulled out from his chest. “You already know my name, but everyone calls me Dex.” He reaches up, slowly, giving you time to scream or stab him, yet you do none of those things. Ever so softly, his fingers brush your cheek, wiping away a tear, he felt you shiver beneath his touch. “You can call me whatever you want. Anything. I don’t care—just… don’t turn away from me, please. I need—I need you.”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, something stirred inside your chest. “I’m not built for this, Dex. Whatever it is you’ve pictured in your head.”

“I know, sweetheart.” he coos amorously, his large hand cupping your jaw fully, thumb resting at the corner of your mouth, your breath hitches but you don’t pull away, he gently takes the knife from your hand. “I’ll make you. Going to make you understand, hm? I’m right here.”

“My legs won’t—” a sob catches in your throat. “Why can’t I run?”

Dex inhaled a sharp breath, and carefully, so tenderly, he leaned in closer to your face, your eyes fluttering closed when his forehead had rested against yours, your breath mingling with his, hot and shaking.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “You don’t believe me yet, I know you’re terrified. But you will. You’ll see.”

“Please,” you whisper again, though you’re not saying it to the knife anymore. You’re not quite certain who you’re saying it to. If your entire life came crashing down and the whole world descended on you, Dex would hurl himself in death’s way to save you, you’re sure of this, but why? 

Why you? Though your uneasiness had been swept away when you felt Dex’s lips pressing against yours, not like the first time, no. This time it had felt desperate, almost painful, his hand sliding into your hair and tilting your head back while his mouth claimed yours. You make a sound against his lips, something needier, your hands coming up to fist in the bloodstained fabric of his suit.

You’re not pushing him away, Dex realizes. You were holding onto him. His heart is hammering so hard he’s certain you can feel it through all the layers between you.

“I’m sorry,” he says in between kisses. “I’m really sorry.”

As he pulled away, Dex shifted his weight, his massive frame looming over you, effectively pinning you between the cold metal of the refrigerator and the heat of his body. He was a wall of muscle, a shadow that had finally swallowed you whole. His other hand came up, settling heavily on your waist, his fingers splaying wide over the curve of your hip, claiming the space you occupied as if it were his birthright.

He didn’t wait for you to find your voice. Dex couldn’t. If he gave you the chance to speak, you might find the strength to push him away once again—re-establishing the boundary of your own soul, and Dex was far too desperate to let that happen. 

What he did was to crash his mouth against yours again, although the dread was long gone, replaced by this starving need. It was a messy, uncoordinated collision of lips and teeth, a silent plea for you to accept the madness he offered. Dex tasted the salt of your tears and the heat of your desperation, it drove him into a fever.

“Please just let me in—let me be the only thing you feel.”

Dropping to his knees with a heavy thud, his eyes never leaving yours until the very last second when he moved to settle between your legs. He worked with such ferocity, his large hands fumbling with the hem of your clothes, his breath warm and hitching against your skin as he bared you to the dim light of the kitchen, naked from the bottom down in front of him. 

How beautiful you looked, only for him. And when Dex finally pressed his face into the damp, sweet heat of your cunt, a broken sound escaped him, a pathetic whine that sounded more like a wounded animal than a man.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against you, his voice muffled by your skin, thick with a desperate, weeping sort of devotion. “I’m so sorry for scaring you… mm, so sorry.”

The only thing you could discern was the silhouette of Dex’s broad shoulders as his head dips between your thighs. Dex begins gently, filling his lungs with the scent of your arousal, dragging his tongue against your slick folds, making your chest heave with every whimper.

And the sweet taste of your wetness coats his tongue, pulling a low groan from his chest. Dex needed this as much as you do, he had been longing to devour your pussy, to hear your breathy cries and soft moans while his tongue delved into your pulsing heat, your shivering body held steady under his selfish touch.

“Dex, please…” you whine and beg but don’t know what for, attempting to squeeze your thighs together but his hands had been a lot stronger gripping them, certain he’d leave bruises along. “Fuck…”

When Dex hears your voice break like that, it unlocks something feral within him—to eat you in his earnestness. He switches between flicking your swollen clit with his tongue, then dragging the broad flat of his tongue through your folds. His grip is unyielding, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he fastens his mouth to your pussy and begins to suck the inner lips. Your desperate, high pitched moans bounce off the kitchen walls, and to Dex, they’re pure music.

There’s something holy in the softness of his mouth, driving you into an immaculate euphoria with each unhurried stroke of his tongue. Dex drinks you in, pushing his tongue inside you as his arms lock around your thighs, tugging you nearer so he can taste deeper—consuming you from the inside.

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he rasped, pulling out his tongue with your name woven into his breath. “Let me make you feel good. So perfect for me.”

Dex’s nose nudges your clit, and you roll your hips against his face, smearing your wetness across his lips. He hums in approval, the vibration running straight through your core. 

A sudden flare of heat surges through you, your legs wobbling as your pussy clenches around his tongue and releases, pleasure like white fire racing through your veins. Knees nearly give out. Dex’s tongue gathers the aftermath of your climax, lapping it up to savor the essence of you. It tasted sweet. When your body finally drifts into that state of trance post orgasm, Dex doesn’t move his mouth away—he just keeps going, gliding from your entrance up to circle your clit, over and over in a soothing, endless rhythm.

You couldn’t remember how long he had been down there, simply tasting your cunt. It must have gone on for hours, yet it didn’t matter. Poor you, so overwhelmed with the sensation Dex had been giving to you, you must have forgotten all the worse things he’d done, and what he will continue to do with the way you kept chanting his name like a prayer. 

Shame bubbles up inside you, suffocating, and unable to contain the amount of pleasure overstimulating you. The things you let Dex do to you—what you won’t admit. What does it say about you, that the fear and the pleasure have somehow entwined together into something you can’t unravel? Maybe you’d scrub your cunt raw afterwards, tremble at what you couldn’t prevent, wondering how you became someone who could be complicit in one’s own destruction.

But Dex has his purpose now. You. 

With him, he made you his salvation, cleansing him from all his unrighteousness. Dex was your man, the worst man to ever exist. He’ll apologize if he finds paradise in indulging himself within you, a selfish consumption of the one thing Dex holds dear. His hands are scarred from killing, and yet you would trust him completely because you will only ever need him.

[basicanti-socialb-tch]

OHHHH DEX WHIMPERING OUT "OH FUCK" AFTER MATT THROWS HIM ON THE PEWS OH IM BRICKEDDD

[winnie-zero]

too close to the stars

kai parker x johanna constantine

‎"look at what i've become. it's all thanks to your volunteer, anna."

‎‎i know what everyone thinks the first time they see me. i thought you'll be different, i thought you saw me. but you're just like everyone else...

‎you just watched me disappear.

song: reflection by the neighborhood

shows: the vampire diaries + sandman

[winnie-zero]

too close to the stars

kai parker × johanna constantine

‎"do you ever felt guilty? leaving me like that."

‎you made it a decision, whether you stay or not, leave me like this or ditch me like that just like everyone else. but when i do it, i'm being unfair— i'm being bad. oh, i'm sorry.

"just returning the favor, anna."

song: reflection by the neighborhood

shows: the vampire diaries + sandman

[winnie-zero]

scales

kai parker x meg masters

"you use me, i use you back. makes us even."

song: hotel by montell fish

shows: supernatural + the vampire diaries

software: capcut

[winnie-zero]

loss of my life

daniel le domas × nell crain

‎"she didn't even draw the card, but she just— just couldn't handle the life of having to kill others to save our skin. and that haunts me... cause if only i knew, then i wouldn't have married her... then maybe she's still alive... the purest thing i ever had. my soul, my wife." — daniel le domas

song: night we met by lord huron

show/movie: hibm + ready or not

[winnie-zero]

scales

kai parker x meg masters

"you use me, i use you back. makes us even."

song: hotel by montell fish

shows: supernatural + the vampire diaries

software: capcut

[winnie-zero]

happy ending

‎(stalker au) blair waldorf x joe golfberg x rebecca evans

‎"i'm not my sister. i don't have a heart. i'm like you."

song: interlude by skrush

movie/show: you + the roommate

software: capcut

[kitkatkitzune]

THE DARKNESS

Pairing(s): Kol Mikaelson x Salvatore!reader, Platonic!Mikaelsons x Salvatore!reader, Platonic!Salvatores x Sister!reader

Summary: The real reason you return to Mystic Falls is revealed to your brothers.

Warnings: Emotional Neglect? (on the Salvatore brothers side), Betrayal (duh), Blood, ANGST, Violence, Klaus getting dagger happy, Klaus being incredibly cruel and deranged (normal Klaus behavior), Reader is traumatized (because of Klaus), Reader isn’t really a good person, A lot of neck snapping, Katherine Pierce, Inaccurate historical depictions, Switches between past and present, Some timeline errors and changes, Uses of Y/N, Kol not showing up til like 2k words in, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (what a shock.)

Notes: THIS WAS ORIGINALLY TITLED ‘THE ART OF BETRAYAL’ BEFORE I DECIDED ‘THE DARKNESS’ FIT BETTER!

Reader is ten, turning eleven when she meets Katherine. She isn’t turned into a vampire until she’s 19.

Pizzelles are an Italian cookie. (Yes, this is random. Yes, this is kind of important.)

Canonically Kol was daggered in 1821 because of his lovely iteration of Hamlet, he wasn’t undaggered until 1901. In this, we’ll say he was still daggered in 1821 but was undaggered some time before 1870. Again with the dagger stuff, Rebekah is canonically daggered until 1887 after all the Marcel thing, in this she was undaggered some time before 1870.

And finally, a big thank you to @wholoveseggs for all her support and encouragement while I’ve been writing this because without her, I probably wouldn’t have finished this!

Word Count: 16.3k (goodness gracious)

MASTER POST , TVDU MASTERLIST

———————

Present Day

Mystic Falls

It had been one hundred and forty-six years since you had seen your brothers. Actually, it had been one hundred and forty-six years since they had seen you. You kept tabs on them over the years, always so close but not close enough for them to find you. As far as your brothers were concerned, you were dead and technically you were.

In truth, you didn’t want to see them but you had to. You had to for him.

So here you were, driving past the Mystic Falls welcome sign. Your jaw clenches at the sight of it, you hadn’t been here since 1864. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you to turn around, that you didn’t want to be back here, that it was going to hurt you. You shoved the feeling away and continued driving until you reached your destination.

The old Salvatore Boarding House, your old home.

You take a deep breath before walking up to the door. It’s wide open and you can hear Stefan and Damon arguing inside. Your best guess is Stefan tried to walk away from Damon by slamming the door on him and all it did was make Damon angrier and he flung it open.

You followed the yelling to the living room, they were so caught up in their argument that they hadn’t noticed you leaning on the door frame.

“I see you two still fight like cats and dogs… I’m sure this is about some silly girl,” you finally speak up, announcing your presence.

They both immediately stop and look at you.

“Who the hell are you?” Damon asks instantaneously and you couldn’t blame him, the last time he saw you, you were just a kid.

You pout, placing a hand over your heart, “that hurts Damon.”

Letting out a dramatic sigh you place your hands on your hips, “I guess that’s fair though… I mean, it has been a really long time, one hundred and forty-six years in fact and I was just a little kid then.”

“I was about this tall…” you gesture with your hand then gasp, bringing your hand to your mouth, “And the last time we spoke was in this house, in this room!”

Stefan’s eyes widened a bit, his face becoming one of shock and realization, “Y/N?” he whispers.

You smirk and Damon scoffs, “That's not possible, our sister is dead.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that, though, I believe the proper term is undead—“

You’re cut off by Damon rushing at you, slamming you into the wall, and holding you up by your throat.

“Damon.” Stefan warns.

“This isn’t Y/N, Stefan! It can’t be! This is some sick imposter! I don’t know how they found out… but Y/N… she’s been dead for over a hundred years!”

You knee him in the stomach, causing him to double over and drop you, “Undead.”

Damon grunts, stumbling back but he quickly recovers, “Okay, let’s say you are our sister… Why now, huh?! Why find us now, after a hundred some years?!” he shouts.

You scoff, standing up straight, “Because I saw you both die! I saw father shoot you both dead! You remember that night right? The night you both tried to save Katherine? The night you were turned?”

You paused for a moment, directing your next words to Damon, “The night you told me I wasn’t your sister anymore.”

You knew being back here would be hard, you knew it would hurt. What you didn’t expect was for Damon to seemingly forget everything that happened in 1864. He looked away from you causing you to scoff.

“That woman ruined our family the moment she stepped foot in Mystic Falls.”

1864

Mystic Falls

You stood next to Stefan, rocking back and forth on your heels as you watched the carriage approach.

Your father had told you that a woman was coming to stay with you all, a woman named Katherine Pierce. You were excited for her arrival, you loved Stefan, Damon, and occasionally your father but you were ecstatic to have another girl around.

The carriage opened and two women got out, you followed Stefan down the stairs, standing right next to him.

“You must be Miss Pierce,” your brother says with his hands still behind his back.

Miss Pierce smirks, “Please,” she reaches her hand out for him to take, which he does, “Call me Katherine.”

They stare at each other for a moment, seemingly having a silent conversation before you interrupt, “Hello!”

Katherine seems taken aback by the sudden voice but puts on a smile, “And who might you be?”

“Y/N!”

Stefan chuckles and places his hand onto your shoulder, “This is my little sister, father jokes that she’s my shadow,” your brother teases, “She’d be following Damon around as well but he’s off at war.”

You frown at the mention of your other brother, not noticing the way Katherine’s gaze hardens.

Katherine would grow close with Stefan over the next weeks and unfortunately for you, she made it abundantly clear that she didn’t like you. You couldn’t figure out why but Stefan continually reassured you that Katherine had no problems with you so you tried to let it go.

Then after some time, Damon returned home and you were overjoyed. You had always been close with your brothers, they were practically your only friends. You had been lonely since Katherine had arrived due to Stefan’s infatuation, you hoped now that Damon was back you wouldn’t be so lonely.

“Damon!” you cheered upon seeing him, “Day! You’re back!”

He chuckles, “That I am!”

You rush to hug him which he quickly reciprocates, patting your head. But his gaze focused elsewhere.

“Who is she?” he points.

You turn to see who he’s looking at and sigh, “That is Miss Katherine Pierce, she’s been staying with us for some time now.”

You beckon Damon to lean down so you could whisper in his ear, “I think Stefan may be in love with her.”

Your eldest brother raises a brow and stands up straight, “Hm? Well… I suppose I should introduce myself to our guest…”

Just like that, Damon was infatuated as well. It was as if Katherine was a siren and both your brothers had been tricked by her song.

You watched Katherine as she led on both your brothers, knowing that at least one of them would be getting a broken heart. Though, you had a feeling they’d both end up heartbroken.

The one event that really broke you was when both your brothers were nowhere to be seen on your birthday, and when you did find them it was like they had no idea what the day was.

You hated Katherine, but you weren’t scared of her. Until you saw her true face.

You knew what she was, a vampire. Your father had told you stories about vampires, they’re evil monsters. He told you if you ever even heard whispers of a vampire that you had to tell him and he’d take care of it.

So you told him and he came up with a plan that you would enact within the week.

“What is that delicious smell?” Damon asks as he walks into the kitchen.

You let out a little laugh, “I baked cookies! Would you like one?”

“I’d love one,” Damon takes one of the cookies from the tray, patting your head as he did.

The first step of the plan was complete, now all you had to do was sit back and wait.

It wouldn’t take long for Katherine to come back to the boarding house with Stefan, he goes and sits on the couch while Katherine begins to go upstairs. She turns to give Damon a look and he immediately rushes to follow her up the stairs.

Moments later there’s a scream, followed by shouting from your father, Damon, and some men you don’t know. Stefan is off the couch quickly and at the steps immediately.

Multiple men are dragging Katherine down the stairs while Damon yells at your father. Stefan stands in shock as you reach his side. Katherine is taken out of the house by the men and put into a guarded carriage. Your father holds Damon to the wall as the carriage leaves your home, finally, his eyes land on you and he lets go of Damon, rushing to you, he places a kiss on your head.

“You were right, my dear. You did good.”

With that, he rushes out the door to the carriage, leaving you alone with your brothers.

Stefan’s voice is quiet, “You know what she is…”

“And you told father!” Damon shouts.

“She’s a monster Damon!” you yell.

He scoffs, “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re ten! A child!”

Your frown, “My birthday was a month ago Damon… I’m eleven… or have you forgotten?”

“It doesn’t matter! How you could be so cruel… I don't understand… I don’t recognize you… you’re no sister of mine. Not anymore.”

“Damon!” Stefan yells.

Damon shakes his head, shoving past you to the door, “Let’s go Stefan! If we’re quick we can save her!”

And just like that, they rush out of the house without sparring you a second glance. They didn’t know it at the time, but moments later you would run out of the house after them.

Present Day

Mystic Falls

“I never went back home… it wouldn’t be home if you were both dead... So I ran and ran and didn’t look back… I travelled all over… never staying in one place for too long.”

Stefan steps forward and pulls you into a tight hug and you allow him too. It had been a century since you had hugged anyone, you almost forgot how to. He pulls away to get a better look at your face, how you’ve grown since he last saw you.

“How old are you? Physically?”

“It’s rude to ask a woman’s age, Stef…” you giggle before giving an actual answer, “Nineteen, I was turned in 1872… which I guess makes me your big sister.”

He chuckles, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Damon crosses his arms, “How’d you turn?”

“Willingly, if that’s what you’re asking… my boyfriend at the time turned me, we wanted to spend forever together.”

“Ironic, sounds a lot like my story with Katherine.”

You furrow your brows, “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying, you’re a hypocrite.”

You scoff and Damon takes that as his signal to continue, “Where is this boyfriend of yours now?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Dead.” you lie.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Stefan smiles softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Suddenly, the floorboards creak causing all of you to look at the sound. There she stood, Elena Gilbert.

“Oh… I’m sorry I didn’t realize you had company…” She clears her throat, “Uh… Stefan, you called me?”

Thinking quickly, you speed away from Stefan and slam the girl into the wall. You weren’t dumb, you knew who she was and you knew she wasn’t Katherine but your brothers didn’t know that you knew. Everything would be fine as long as you didn’t kill her, he wouldn’t mind if she was roughed up a bit.

“You keep the bitch around?! After everything?!”

Stefan and Damon sped to your side, Damon ripping you away from her.

You scoff, “You still protect her!”

“This isn’t Katherine,” Stefan says before pulling Elena to him, the girl holding her throat.

“Looks exactly like her!”

Damon rolls his eyes, pulling you farther away, “We know. We have eyes. It’s weird, some weird, freaky nature thing but she’s not Katherine. Smell her, she’s human.”

You turn your attention to Stefan and Elena who are both looking at you, waiting for your next move. Stefan is ready to jump in front of Elena to save her, you almost roll your eyes but resist, this would be like 1864 all over again.

You walk over to them, slowly, tilting your head at Elena.

“I’m Elena…Elena Gilbert.”

You give her a half smile, “Y/N. Sorry.”

You hold out your hand for her to take, which she does after looking at Stefan to make sure you were safe.

“This happens a lot, you’d be surprised…”

“No, I wouldn’t be. Katherine’s a bitch. A lot of people want her dead,” you pause, “Consider getting a tattoo on your forehead,” you brush your pointer finger and thumb across your forehead, “‘Not Katherine’.”

Elena giggles, “In size forty font.”

You crack a smile, she seemed sweet, you almost felt bad about what was going to happen, almost.

“You’re a friend of Stefan and Damon’s?”

“I’m their sister,” you smirk, chuckling at the shocked expression on her face.

“Our sister who we thought was dead up until about five minutes ago,” Damon adds, still suspicious of you.

“I didn’t know you were alive either until I heard rumors from some vampires that fled from here…” another lie.

Stefan and Damon share a look and you look between them, “What?” You ask.

“The tomb vampires.”

Stefan pats your back, “C’mon, we got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Well, this is lovely but are we going to discuss what we’re here for?” A new voice cuts in, she looks familiar but you can’t quite place her.

Elena on the other hand looks terrified, “You…”

“Like he said, a lot of catching up to do,” the woman smiles.

You all sat down in the living room while the woman who you learned to be Rose began to pace back and forth while speaking, “Okay, you have to understand, I only know what I’ve picked up over the years- and I don’t know what’s true and what’s not. That’s the problem with all this vampire crap but Klaus I know is real.”

You keep your expression neutral, you had been told the story of Katerina Petrova, Katherine Pierce as you knew her and how she escaped her death by Klaus and Elijah both. That’s why this woman was familiar, she had played a role in the escape.

“Who is he?” Elena asks.

Damon speaks up, “He’s one of the originals. He’s a legend,” he widens his eyes for dramatic flair.

”From the first generation of vampires,” Stefan gestures with his glass.

“Like Elijah?”

Rose sighs, dropping her shoulders, “No, Elijah is the Easter Bunny compared to Klaus. He’s a foot soldier, Klaus is the real deal.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face, Elijah? The Easter Bunny? Now that was a funny joke.

“Klaus is known to be the oldest…” Stefan adds and that almost makes you giggle.

“So…” Elena begins, “You're saying the oldest vampire in the history of time is coming after me?”

Well, not the oldest.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Damon sighs, standing up, “No, what they’re saying is, I mean, if what she’s saying is true—“

“Which it is,” Rose cuts in.

“—And you’re not just saying this so we don’t kill you…”

“Which I’m not.”

Damon sighs, “Then… we’re looking at a solid maybe?”

“Look,” Stefan says, going to sit next to Elena, “Elijah’s dead so no one else even knows you exist.”

This makes you look up, unless these idiots found a white oak stake, Elijah was not dead, he was simply resting and he’d be pissed when he got back. You only hoped that he’d stay clear of you, you still held a soft spot for the man and you didn’t want to rat him out, but you would if you had to.

“Not that you know of,” Rose adds.

“That’s not helping…” Damon mutters.

“I’ve never even met anyone who has laid eyes on him, we’re talking centuries of truth mixed with fiction!” Stefan argues, “For all we know he could just be some sort of stupid bedtime story…” he looks at Elena, trying to reassure her that she’s safe.

Rose scoffs, “He’s real and he doesn’t give up. If he wants something, he gets it.” Well ain’t that the truth.

“If you’re not afraid of Klaus then you’re an idiot.” Rose adds. Also true.

“Well, what about you little sister?” Damon asks, gesturing to you, “You ever heard of Klaus?”

“No.” Yes. “I doubt he’s even real.” He’s very real.

“You mentioned you traveled a lot,” Stefan looks at you, “You’ve never heard of the original vampires?”

“Never.”

1870

New Orleans

You had showered off all of the blood, trying to rid yourself of the horrible memory. Why was it that vampires seemed to be everywhere you went? And now you were staying in a house with not one, but four vampires.

Sighing, you get out of the shower and change into the outfit Elijah had provided for you, it was a simple night gown, reaching past your knees. You find your way to the guest room that Elijah had shown you and curl into the bed, unable to sleep. You stay in that position all night, not getting even a wink of rest.

When morning comes, you make your way downstairs to the living room, “Elijah?” you call out softly, knowing that he’d be able to hear even the faintest of whispers.

There’s a whoosh behind you causing you to spin around on your heel, expecting to see Elijah but you don’t. A man stands by the couch, smirking.

”I see my brother has taken to copying me. Bringing home his very own charity case,” the man announces as he drops down on the couch to sit, urging you to sit down as well, you do in fear of upsetting him.

You fidget with your hands out of nervousness and he cracks a smile.

“No need to be scared, love. I’m Klaus…” he holds a hand out for you to take and you do, rather reluctantly.

When you don’t say anything, he continues, “Did my brother say something about me?”

You shake your head, “No, not you.”

“Oh? Not me? Did he say anything about my other siblings, do tell me. I’m just dying to know.”

You look around the room before turning back to him, “He said I should be careful around Kol…”

“Ah, my little brother, yes, he can be quite reckless… and rather… insatiable…”

“Are you talking badly about me to our new guest?” a voice that you assume belongs to Kol fills the room.

Klaus clicks his tongue, holding back a laugh, “No, no, little brother. Simply warning the girl of your tendencies…”

Kol scoffs, before leaning over the back of the couch, his chin practically touching your shoulder as he whispers to you, “Don’t listen to him, darling… or Elijah for that matter.”

You jump a bit and tilt your head away from him, inadvertently giving the vampire easy access to your neck. He chuckles and surprisingly, leans away.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Kol! Elijah already said you’re to leave her alone!” a blonde girl comes bouncing into the room, pulling Kol further away from you.

In a flash she’s in front of you, holding her hand out for you to take, “I’m Rebekah! It’ll be nice to have another girl around!”

She then looks you up and down, taking in your current outfit, “Now this just won’t do, come now,” she reaches her other hand out for you and when you take it she pulls you off of the couch.

She quickly begins to pull you towards the stairs just as Elijah comes back into the room, he sighs upon seeing you and his sister.

“Do not overwhelm the poor girl, Rebekah.”

“Relax Elijah, I’m only going to get her a change of clothes… and we must do something with this hair!” she twirls a piece of your hair.

And with that, Rebekah practically drags you up to her room.

“Sit.” she guides you to a vanity chair, “You’ve got gorgeous features but this hair… this dress… they are not doing you any favors…”

Your face flushes, “Oh, I haven’t had much money for clothing let alone food… It's been hard to find work and I never really learned how to do my own hair… my brother used to do it for me and he’d allow me to braid his… I just can’t seem to do so when it’s my own head.”

Rebekah smiles softly, “You needn’t worry, I have plenty of options for you!” she rushes to her closet, opening it to reveal a plethora of different dresses.

She holds up a gown with a bit of lace detailing that goes up to the neck, “This will do nicely. Much better than this night gown…” she says as she brushes the sleeve of the dress you currently wore.

She hands you the gown, “Go now,” she points to the bathrooom, “get dressed and I’ll do your hair!”

You do as she says and come back, having her help you tie the back.

“Now, let’s fix this hair.” she pushes you back down into the chair, “Would you like a braid?”

You nod, “That would be lovely…”

Rebekah hums, “You said your brother used to do your hair… Where is he now?”

Your eyes widen a bit before you look down, “Oh, uhm, he’s dead… That’s why I ran from home…”

“You’re a runaway?”

You crack a smile, trying to be as confident as possible, “Was my ratty appearance and lack of cash not enough to give that away?”

Rebekah chuckles, “I suppose… were you always poor?” she asks, nonchalantly.

“Oh Heavens no. My family was very wealthy… the wealthiest family in our town. My father was a landowner.”

“You didn’t think to take any money before running?” She raises a brow.

“I was only eleven at the time and had just witnessed… something awful…” you take a deep breath, you hadn’t ever spoken about this out loud, “I needed to get away.”

Rebekah frowns, dropping your hair, “Elijah said you’re seventeen, you’ve been on your own for six years?”

You nod and Rebekah’s frown deepens, “That’s a long time to be alone… that must have been awful.”

“I’ve managed,” you shrug, “I went back once, a week after I had left when I got second thoughts… I found out that my father had also passed. I came across a newspaper, they believed that someone had killed my father and taken me…”

“He was killed?”

You hum, and Rebekah picks up your hair again.

“Did they ever catch his killer?”

“No… but I have a suspicion it was a vampire.”

“Why would you think that?” she asks as she finishes your braid.

“His head was nearly ripped off.”

A few days later, Klaus found you. Elijah was dealing with other matters so he wasn’t there to monitor his brother's behavior.

You were alone when he found you, in the kitchen. Baking was something that you enjoyed doing at your old home and after running away you hadn’t been able to. Elijah welcomed you to use the kitchen and bake whatever you’d like, saying he wanted to make sure you felt comfortable during your stay.

“Not too broken up about your father being murdered?”

The sudden voice causes you to jump, spilling the cup of sugar you were holding.

“You startled me,” you sigh, beginning to clean up the sugar.

“You’re easy to frighten,” in a second, Klaus is directly next to you, making you yelp, he smirks, “Now answer the question.”

“What?”

“Your father…” he practically circles you, “You think a vampire killed him? You didn’t seem too sad about it.”

“I… it was six years ago… wait, you were listening when I was talking to Rebekah?”

Klaus hums, “Six years is not that long,” he ignores your question, besides, you already knew the answer. “Well, to a vampire at least. I suppose I could buy that if your heart wasn’t racing.”

You let out a breath, “Klaus—“

“Yes yes, I know Elijah has told you to stay clear of me even if you deny it…”

“That’s not—“

“You didn’t like your father!” he exclaims, making your eyes widen, “I’ve figured it out, huh? What was so awful about the man? Do tell.”

You scowl, you knew you shouldn’t mouth off to the vampires but Klaus was testing your patience, “Not that it’s any of your business but, he… he killed my brothers.”

“Brothers? Plural? Interesting, you only mentioned one to Rebekah. You’re lying to us now?”

“I- No! I only mentioned the one that did my hair! I didn’t lie!”

“Withholding the truth then,” he smirks.

You sigh, “Elijah knows everything already, I’ve told him everything. I haven’t lied, both my brothers fell for a vampire- my father got involved…” tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes, “…he ended up killing them both… I assume the vampire- that she got away, that she killed my father… that’s why I’ve been alone.” tears begin to stain your cheeks.

You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes when the door opens. Klaus has a sheepish expression when Elijah enters the room.

“Niklaus,” he practically hisses, “What did you do?”

“Nothing! I simply asked the girl a few questions!”

Elijah narrows his eyes, “I’m sure.”

You went upstairs and stayed there for the rest of the day, trying to avoid everyone. You were deep in thought when Kol’s voice startled you.

“My brother made you cry? He does tend to have that effect on women.”

Kol chuckles, and you turn to see him leaning against the doorframe of the room Elijah has you staying in. Your eyes widen and you turn your back to him, probably not your best move considering he’s a vampire but Elijah had told you to stay away. It was bad enough that you had spoken to him earlier but at least then his siblings were around, now you truly were alone.

“Like I said darling, you needn't be scared.”

“Elijah told me not to speak with you, he wouldn’t have told me that for no reason.”

Kol scoffs, “He’s always so dramatic.”

You don’t respond and Kol sighs, “I’ll go if you want, I simply wanted to make sure Nik didn’t upset you too badly… you’re too pretty to be upset over him.”

You blush, he sounds genuine but you couldn’t trust it. You also didn’t want to upset Elijah, he was the one who was giving you a home after all. He could easily kick you out and back onto the street to fend for yourself.

“I’d just like to be left alone… please.”

You hummed mindlessly in the kitchen, swaying while you baked. It had been three months since the Mikaelsons had allowed you into their home, Elijah promised he would find you your own home soon enough but he had been so busy with other duties.

You didn’t mind, you had grown used to living in their home. Ironically, living in the house of deadly original vampires had been the safest you had ever felt. The Mikaelsons had completely changed your opinion of vampires in just a few, short months. Rebekah had become a close friend of yours, Klaus had stopped his frequent questioning and began to see you as a friend (he never apologized but you knew he felt bad when he gifted you a necklace), and Kol… well… Kol was complicated.

After he had checked on you that day, you became curious about him. Elijah’s warnings only did so much to curb your curiosity. At first you had listened, avoided Kol at all costs but there was just something about him that kept pulling you in.

You would often find your mind wandering back to him. His face, his hair, his eyes, his cheshire-like grin…

Kol was determined to get you to break your walls down, he would find you all the time, whether you were painting like Nik had taught you, braiding your hair like Rebekah, or even just laying in your bed. He would find you and you’d just chat.

You brought up Kol to Elijah once, you wanted to know what was so horrible about him because when he was with you, he was sweet. Elijah wouldn’t give you a clear answer, just reminded you that he was dangerous. You wouldn’t mention how much time you had begun to spend with Kol to Elijah, in fear of making him upset.

But he found out, just like you knew he would.

“Miss Y/N, may I speak with you?” Elijah asks as he enters the kitchen.

You turn to look at him, just having finished the dough for the cookies you were making, “Of course, Elijah.”

“I notice you have become quite close with Kol as of late.”

You gulp, looking down, feeling guilty, Elijah had asked one thing of you and you weren’t even able to do that.

“I’m sorry, I know I—“

Elijah holds up his hand to silence you, “Please.”

You let out a shaky breath and Elijah lowers his hand, “I’ve never seen my little brother care for someone like he cares for you… especially after such a short amount of time. You… you’re good for him. He’s changed… so no more of this sneaking around like children,” he waves his hand to gesture around.

Your face flushes, “Oh we’re not… we’re just… we’re not together…”

Elijah smirks, giving you a knowing look, “I never said anything about a relationship.”

1871

New Orleans

“What are you reading?” Kol asks as he drops onto the couch, sitting next to you.

“Frankenstein,” you hum, not bothering to look up from the book, turning a page.

Kol nods, “I’ve heard of that one…”

You two sit in silence for a moment before Kol sighs dramatically. You close your eyes, composing yourself when Kol sighs again. You mark your page and close the book, finally turning to look at him.

“What Kol?”

He shrugs, “I’m bored.”

“Bored?”

“Very.”

You sigh, “Can I at least finish my chapter before we go off to cause whatever chaos you have planned?”

Kol rolls his eyes, “Fine,” he draws out the word.

Just as you’re about to pick up the book again, Kol drops his head into your lap, laying across the couch.

You tense up immediately, “Kol. What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you to finish your chapter, darling,” he mumbles, “Your thighs are very comfortable.”

You sigh, forcing yourself to relax, it wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy his touch or him being this close, it was that it made you nervous. You were falling for Kol, you knew you were and every touch, no matter how small, made you nervous. Touching was common with Kol, you had a feeling it was how he showed affection.

It didn’t take long for you to finish your chapter, “Kol,” you say quietly but get no response.

Your brows furrow and you look closer at him in your lap, he was breathing evenly, his eyes closed. He was asleep. He looked peaceful, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he looked innocent and angelic.

You weighed your options, you could wake him up and put distance between the two of you… or you could let him sleep, curled in your lap, while you read another chapter.

You decided on the second option and it definitely had nothing to do with the fact you wanted to keep him so close.

It was calm, everything about the moment was so domestic. You wished you could stay here forever, reading a novel while an original vampire laid asleep on you as you brushed your fingers through his hair.

Unfortunately, no nice thing could last.

The door to the compound flung open, angry footsteps filling the silence.

“Niklaus, wait a moment. Let us think about this.”

“There is nothing to think about!”

Kol tenses in your lap at the loud voices, stirring in his sleep. He sits up, forcing the sleep from his eyes.

Klaus enters the living room, glaring daggers at you. You don’t seem to pick up on his angry gaze, “Did you get it?” you ask excitedly.

You had mentioned a few weeks ago that your mother had a cookbook that contained all of your family's recipes. After she died, the book remained in the study of the boarding house. You were sad, you wanted the book back because you couldn’t remember any of the recipes and Elijah had offered to go get it for you.

You told him not to be ridiculous and that he’d have to travel the whole way to Mystic Falls to get it, he seemed to tense a bit at the name but insisted nonetheless. So you told him about the boarding house and where he would find it, Klaus insisted on accompanying him.

“Yes.” Klaus answers coldly, dropping the book onto the coffee table.

You squeal and lean forward grabbing the book, “Thankyou!” you begin to flip through it, “You have no idea how much this means to me…” you look up, trailing off when you finally notice the look on Klaus’ face.

“We found something else too,” his tone is detached as he tosses a picture onto the coffee table.

You recognized the photo instantly, it had been taken shortly after Katherine arrived in Mystic Falls. It was of you, Stefan, and Katherine. The three of you had smiles on your faces, though, it was obvious Katherine’s was fake.

“Her,” he points to Katherine.

“What?”

“Don't play dumb with me,” Klaus practically growls, “This is the vampire you mentioned?”

You gulp, nodding, “I- yes, that’s Katherine…”

“Katherine?” Elijah muses, “Is that the name she’s using now?”

You didn’t miss the subtle way that Kol slid forward on the couch, or the way he placed his hand on your thigh, attempting to hide you behind his arm, to shield you from Klaus’ fury.

“Where is she?” Klaus keeps his gaze locked onto you.

“I don’t know… I haven’t seen her since I ran from home…”

Kol squeezes your thigh to try and calm you down, to reassure you that he wouldn’t let Klaus hurt you even if he tried. You were grateful for him and Elijah, Klaus was impulsive at times, especially if he thought he was being betrayed.

After a considerable amount of time, Klaus had calmed down. He and Elijah explained the story of Katerina to you, how she had escaped her death, and how Klaus wanted her to be scared before he killed her. How he wanted her to suffer.

Just like last time, Klaus didn’t apologize, the day after you found three books on your nightstand, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women, and Les Miserables.

A few weeks had passed since the Mikaelsons found out about your history with Katherine. And you all went on with life like nothing had happened, Klaus would occasionally ask about Katherine and you would always answer his questions. Katherine was why your brothers were dead. Katherine was the reason you hated vampires. And the Mikaelsons were the reason you didn’t anymore.

“My mother used to make these when I was little… this is actually her recipe- well, my great grandmother's recipe,” you tell Kol as he watches you close the pizzelle iron.

He hums, reaching for one that’s cooling, “In all my life, I’ve never had one of these…”

Your eyes light up, “Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask you this! I know you eat my baked goods… but does human food actually taste good to you?”

Kol tilts his head, “I’ve told you numerous times, darling, you’re an excellent baker…”

“But that’s not what I asked, I wish to know if you enjoy them…”

“Your treats are delectable… as are you,” Kol flirts, leaning closer.

Your face heats up at his comment, “Flattery will get you nowhere, Kol Mikaelson.”

“No?” he raises a brow, his face just inches from yours.

“Well, maybe somewhere…” you whisper, your gaze flickers to his lips.

He smirks, “And where would that be?”

“You tell me…”

The tension between the two of you was thick, it had been for a few months now but nothing had come of it. The two of you danced around each other and your obvious feelings, Rebekah would tease you about it, often remarking on how you could do better than her brother.

Just as his lips were about to brush against yours he pulled back, “Darling…”

“Yes, Kol?”

“The iron.”

Your eyes widen and you quickly turn back to the pizzelle iron, standing up from your chair, opening it quickly, coughing a bit as the smoke hits you directly in the face. You use the tongs to toss the burnt cookies onto the cooling rack as Kol doubles over in laughter.

You glare at him, before letting out a small laugh, “You distracted me! This is your fault!”

He smirks, standing up to his full height, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you close, “I’m a distraction?”

“Yes… you are.”

He presses a kiss to your temple and hums, “Too bad you’re stuck with me…”

You pull away a bit to look up at him, “You think?”

Kol stares at you, debating internally about what to say, “I think… no, I know,” he takes a deep breath, “…that I have completely fallen in love with you, Y/N Salvatore…”

A smile appears on your face, “Well I know that I am utterly in love with you as well, Kol Mikaelson…”

He smiles before capturing your lips in a soft but passionate kiss. The arm around your waist tightens, he pulls you impossibly close and you loop your arms around his neck.

A low whistle followed by clapping causes the two of you to break apart, Kol didn’t let you get too far though, still keeping his hand on your waist.

“Took you long enough,” Klaus smirks.

You cover your face with your face with your hands, completely embarrassed but Kol just seems annoyed by the interruption.

“Is there something you need Nik?” Kol asks, rolling his eyes.

“I was just wondering what that burning smell was, wouldn’t want our lovely home to burn down. But I see now our little baker was just… preoccupied…”

“Rebekah!” Klaus shouts, causing your eyes to widen.

“Nik no!” you retort, peaking through your fingers, but you knew it was too late.

“What the bloody hell do you want now?” Rebekah asks as she walks into the room.

Klaus smirks and then gestures towards you and Kol by tilting his head. Rebekah immediately notices the hand around your waist and gasps.

“Finally! I thought you two would be dancing around each other forever!” she squeals.

“What is all this shouting about?” Elijah asks, entering the room while adjusting his cufflinks.

Kol pinches the bridge of his nose before leaning over to whisper to you, fully aware his siblings could still hear him, “It’s like they all come out of the woodwork at the most inopportune times…”

Elijah spots the cooling racks of pizzelles and makes his way over, immediately picking up one of the burnt cookies. He holds it up and raises a brow at you, waiting for an answer.

Klaus begins to cackle, speeding over to Elijah to take the charred cookie from him, “Brother, Y/N got distracted…” he points at Kol, “the distraction.”

Elijah lets out a little chuckle, clearly amused, “Yes, well, try not to get distracted in the kitchen… we eat in here.”

1872

New Orleans

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Kol holds your face in his hands.

“More than anything… I want to be with you.”

Kol chuckles, “My darling, you’re already with me, you already have me.”

He takes your hands and places them over his heart, “This dead heart belongs to you.”

You giggle a bit at his words and he smiles before frowning, “I just… I don’t want you to think you have to do this for me…”

You smile softly, “I know, but this is what I want, I promise…”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve already had my witches make you a ring… a gorgeous ring for a gorgeous girl, my gorgeous girl…”

You giggle again and pull him in for a kiss which he quickly reciprocates. After a moment he forces himself to pull away. He scoots til his back is against the headboard then pulls you so you’re sitting with your back against his chest.

Kol brings his wrist to his mouth, fangs protruding and bites into his own flesh before holding his wrist near your mouth for you to take. Both your hands grab onto him, pulling his wrist as close to your mouth as physically possible and begin to drink from him.

He groans at the sensation and brushes some of the hair from your face, “Atta girl… that’s it… just a little more… good…”

When Kol decides you’ve had enough he pulls away, chuckling at the way you try to follow his now healing wrist, “My, my, already so bloodthirsty…”

You look up at him and pout, some of his blood dripping from your lips. He could get used to sight of you and blood, his two favorite things, together. He gives you another kiss, tasting his own blood from your mouth.

Pulling back, he sighs, “This is the part I don’t like.”

You lean up and kiss his cheek, “You’re the only one I’d trust to do this… it’s okay, my love, it’s what I want.”

Reluctantly, Kol brings his hand up to your neck, “I love you, my darling.”

“I love you… now please, kill me.”

He winces at the sound of your neck breaking, squeezing his eyes shut. He lays in your bed, holding your body, brushing the hair from your face while softly humming until you wake up.

Present Day

Mystic Falls

You stare at your daylight ring, spinning it on your finger.

“Y/N… Y/N… Y/N!” Damon snaps his fingers in front of your face to gain your attention.

You jump and look at him and then at Stefan, now noticing that Elena left.

“Are you alright?” Stefan asks, tilting his head.

“I’m fine… just… lost in thought.”

Damon’s gaze stays focused on your ring, “Is that your daylight ring?”

You hum, looking up at him and then at Stefan, before holding your hand up to show off the ring, “I know, it’s not nearly as gaudy as yours.”

Stefan chuckles but Damon narrows his eyes, “It’s not a wedding ring,” he notes.

“No…” you state but it sounds more like a question.

“So the guy can ask you to die and be forced to drink blood for the rest of eternity but he can’t get down on one knee and pop the question?”

“Damon…” Stefan sighs, they had just gotten you back and he was worried that all of Damon’s passive aggressive comments were going to drive you away again.

You scoff, “He didn’t ask me to do anything, it was my choice. I wanted this. We… we didn’t need to be married to be in love… it just wasn’t the right time for a wedding anyways…”

Stefan seems a little shocked, “You asked him to turn you?”

Before you can respond to Stefan, Damon interrupts, “This was your first boyfriend?”

“He was my first everything,” you state matter-of-factly.

Both Stefan and Damon groan in disgust at your words and the implication of them.

You roll your eyes, “Oh grow up.”

Stefan stands up, “And on that note, I’m going to school… make sure Elena’s okay…”

You fake pout, “You don’t wanna hang out with your sister after not seeing her for so long?”

“That’s not—“

You cut him off, “Relax Stef, I’m kidding. Go.”

He gives you a curt nod and heads out of the room, leaving you alone with Rose and Damon. You almost forgot Rose was here, she had been quiet ever since she had finished her speech about Klaus. Damon gives Rose a look and she nods, leaving the room.

“I thought you hated vampires,” Damon states, taking the spot on the couch where Stefan once was.

“I did… until I met him.” Them.

Damon stays quiet for a moment, his eyes soften a bit, “This guy must have been special.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “He was… I really loved him, Damon. I really do still love him…”

Your brother sighs, scooching closer to you on the couch. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you to him.

“I am happy to have you back, you know… it’s just… you’re not the same kid I left behind, you’ve grown so much, to me you’re still the little girl whose hair I used to braid…”

“It’s okay, Day… I get it… I do,” you smile, using the nickname you used to call him as a child.

He ruffles your hair, “Why don’t we go out, I’ll show you around town… it’s practically the same, just modern.”

“I… uhm…” you sigh, “I’m tired to be honest, I traveled a long way to get here… and I think all the ‘excitement’ just made me even more tired…”

He nods, “Alright, I’m assuming you want your same room, you remember where it is?”

You stand up from the couch, “How could I forget?”

You leave Damon on the couch, making your way to the stairs. You take note of Rose who was standing near the kitchen doorway, she had clearly been listening to your conversation. There was no such thing as privacy with vampires.

Your room was exactly as you had left it, you could tell that no one had even entered the room in years. If you had to guess, you’d say that the last ones to enter were Klaus and Elijah— they had also retrieved your favorite teddy bear on their mission to get the cook book. There was dust floating around and cobwebs everywhere. You let out a sigh just as Damon makes his way up the stairs to you, he must have remembered the state of your room.

“No one’s been in there since…”

“I know,” you cut him off.

“We didn’t want to disturb it…”

You sigh, “Can I just… have another room for now?”

He nods and leads you down the hall to one of the guest rooms that had been maintained over the years, “I can get you extra blankets? Extra pillows?”

You shake your head, walking further into the room and sit on the bed, “This is fine.”

”Alright, well, I’ll let you sleep,” as he’s about to leave, his hand goes to the light switch to turn it off.

In a second, you’re off of the bed. You grab his hand causing him to groan in pain, you were sure you broke fingers but you didn’t care. You couldn’t let him turn off the light.

“Ow!”

You let go after a second, “I… I’m sorry…” you mumble.

“Jesus! If you didn’t want it off you could have said that!” he waves his hand around, wincing as his fingers snap themselves back into place.

You just blink at him, and he sighs, “Just get some rest.”

He reaches for the door this time, you grab it as it’s about to close and he stops, “Yeah?”

“Don’t close the door.”

Damon raises a brow, “You want the light on and the door open?”

You nod, “Please…”

“You can sleep like that?”

“It’s the only way I can sleep.”

Damon goes to open his mouth, but quickly shuts it, deciding that for once in his life he should just be quiet. He nods and leaves it at that, you let out of a sigh when goes, dropping down onto the guest bed.

You want to close your eyes but you can’t. It’s too dark.

Stefan eventually returns and finds Damon sipping on bourbon as usual.

“Our sister is strange,” Damon announces the second Stefan steps foot in the door.

Stefan sighs, “Alright, I’ll bite. What happened?”

Damon sets down his glass, “She’s upstairs, sleeping.”

“Okay?”

“With the door open, the curtains open, and the light on.”

“Damon, just leave it alone.”

The older Salvatore scoffs, “Come on Stefan, that’s weird.”

Stefan shrugs, “I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just said to leave it alone. We just got her back, literally today and if you keep pushing like you always do, you’re going to push her away. Again.”

“Don’t act like this is all on me. We both pushed her away… pushed her right into the arms of some scummy vampire and now she’s stuck like us. Well, at least it sounds like she actually got to make that choice.”

“I thought we were past that,” Stefan lets out a humourless chuckle.

“We’ll never be past that.”

“I was just joking before about you two constantly fighting…” you mumble as you walk down the stairs.

Damon smirks, “Stefan loves to bicker.”

You raise a brow, “So it’s only Stefan then?”

You swiftly make your way across the room to the bourbon and grab a glass, you turn to Damon, “May I?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Humming, you pour yourself a glass, looking at Damon over the rim of the cup, “You and Rose woke me up earlier, safe to say I’m disgusted…” This was a lie, you never fell asleep in the first place.

Damon rolls his eyes, “Now who needs to grow up?”

Stefan sighs and takes that as his que to cut in, “You sleep well? Besides that…”

You take a sip of the alcohol before responding, “Like a baby.”

Another lie, you hadn’t slept ‘like a baby’ since 1914.

1914

New Orleans

“He’ll never let us leave, he’ll never let us be happy.” Kol holds you tightly in his arms, “This is the only way…” he pulls back to hold your face in his hands, “I’ll find the diamond, my witches will do what we need, and then we will leave this place, my love. I want to show you the world, just as you wish but we can’t do that with him looming over us.”

You swallow, “I am tired of watching him hurt you… all of you.”

“And I do not want him to ever hurt you.“

Klaus had been a friend to you over the years but the one thing you disagreed on was how he handled his siblings. It broke your heart to watch any of them be daggered and put away in those wretched boxes for however long he deemed necessary. It drove a rift in between the two of you and you knew Kol was right, with how tightly of a leash Klaus kept on Kol, it was only a matter of time before Klaus saw Kol as a threat and daggered him again.

Besides, it wouldn’t be killing Nik. It would just be giving him a taste of his own medicine for once.

“Okay…”

“Okay?”

You nod and Kol lets out a small chuckle, half smiling at you, he presses his lips to yours.

Pulling back, he looks you up and down, “All you have to do is look pretty, which is an easy task for you considering you always look gorgeous.”

He takes your hand and has you do a twirl, admiring the way your dress moves as you spin, “Absolutely stunning.”

You roll your eyes, giggling as he spins you right into his arms, “Always such a charmer.”

“Only for you…” he presses a kiss to your head, “You head down to the party I’ll be right there.”

You hum, connecting your lips one last time before heading downstairs, blending into the crowd around you. Soon after, Kol would make his way downstairs, he snuck up behind you, placing his hands on your hips and whispering into your ear.

“Rebekah knows but do not fret… she’s going to help us.”

Only she wouldn’t, Rebekah ran straight to Klaus and told him everything.

All of you were currently on the stairs, posed for a family photograph. Kol had his arm wrapped securely around your waist when Klaus raised his glass, taping the side of it with a knife to attract the attention of everyone in the room. He starts by thanking those invited for attending but then makes a special toast to Rebekah.

He looks at you and Kol while speaking, “It is especially gratifying in times when treachery runs deep to know you have someone you can trust…” he turns back to face Rebekah, smiling at her, “A toast, to you, my sister.”

Kol tenses, the two of you share a look and quickly begin to make your way up the stairs. You make it to the top of the stairs before Kol does and just as he’s about to join you, Elijah speeds in front of him. Elijah grabs Kol’s arms, successfully detaining him as Klaus slowly walks up the stairs. You’re frozen in place, unsure what to do and Kol looks at you. He knows this will be the last time he sees you for a very long time so he decides to commit your features to memory. He regrets not asking you for a dance earlier.

“Ladies and gentlemen! I do apologize for the disturbance! But, what’s a Mikaelson party without a little squabble…?” He reveals a silver dagger.

“Y/N run!” Kol shouts and you listen.

You rush away making Klaus sigh, looking at Rebekah over his shoulder, “Catch her,” he commands.

Kol looks at his sister, a pleading look in his eyes as he struggles in Elijah’s hold— watching her run after you, knowing that it would be near impossible for you to outrun her.

You hear Kol’s pained scream as Klaus shoves the dagger into his heart, trying to fight your tears as you run. You were outside when Rebekah caught you, slamming you into the wall.

“Bekah please…”

Her eyes scan your face, your fear, your grief, and she loosens her hold, “I have never had a true friend until you, Y/N… please… forgive me for what I am about to do.”

Rebekah takes your face in her hands, staring into your eyes and you begin to panic, knowing what is about to happen.

“You promised you’d never do that! All of you did! That you’d never take my choice away!” you fight against her.

“Look at me,” her voice becomes hypnotic and you find yourself unable to look away from her eyes, “You’re going to forget Kol, you’re going to forget that you were ever in love with him. You’ve never even heard his name. You are going to forget all about Elijah and… me. All you will know regarding the Mikaelson family is that you have to keep running from Klaus. You don’t stop, you don’t stay in one place for long, you keep running.”

Your eyes have completely glazed over, pupils dilated, “I keep running from Klaus…”

Rebekah pulls back from you, staring at you as your eyes go back to normal, “Y/N?”

“I… I’m sorry, do I know you? I… nevermind that I need to get going, I’m sorry again,” you say, walking past her before using your speed to get farther away.

Rebekah lets out a shaky breath, knowing that Klaus will not believe that you were able to outrun her. She brings her own hands to her neck and snaps it, falling to the ground.

Maybe he’d believe that.

Present Day

Mystic Falls

A few days had passed since your arrival in Mystic Falls, while everything had seemingly calmed down a bit, there was still the looming presence of Klaus.

You had been briefly involved with their plan of getting the moonstone from Katherine, you knew it wouldn’t do them any good and it was clear they were grasping at straws to try and save the doppelgängers life. After contacting him, he told you to just continue on as is so you wouldn’t raise suspicion. You had witnessed Elena’s attempt at a self-sacrifice play, which she failed at terribly due to your brother's intervention… and Elijah’s.

Damon was incredibly annoyed when he found out Elijah was still alive. And after a lot of back and forth and changing of plans, you managed to convince Damon to let you accompany him to the bar to confront Jules. You refused to be on babysitting duty with Jeremy.

You made it your mission to avoid Elijah, knowing that if you saw him you’d end up telling Klaus in fear of him interfering with their plan. You already knew that Elena and her group of friends would try to interfere but you could handle them - you had plans. Caroline was meant to be the vampire… but you had plenty of options for a vampire, maybe even your own brothers. Tyler Lockwood was a werewolf, but you needed a backup, which is the whole reason you went to the bar with Damon. You wanted to get an idea about Jules so that it would be easier to get her.

Jules was smart, she wouldn’t drink the wolfsbane and she instantly knew what you and Damon were. That wouldn’t matter, you knew when it came down to it - you’d be able to capture her with ease. You backed down from the argument, not wanting to fight in the middle of the bar but Damon didn’t. He kept pushing just like he always did.

That brought you to where you were now, back at the boarding house with Damon and Rose. The two were clearly having a moment so you decided to take a step back into the living room. Just as you do, a large wolf jumps through the window, slamming you into the ground. You hold its jaw, pushing its mouth away from you in fear of being bit.

“Damon!” you shriek, “A little help would be nice!”

Damon goes to the fireplace mantel, picking up a sword, taking a swing at the wolf. It lets out a pained sound and releases you- now going to attack Damon. Before it’s able to turn your brother into a chew toy, Rose jumps in front of him, taking the brunt of the attack. The werewolf sinks its teeth into her shoulder, infecting her with its deadly bite.

Your brother slashes the wolf once more and it takes off into the night, knowing it wouldn’t survive another hit from the blade. You let out a sigh of relief, turning to look at Damon and Rose.

“How bad is it?” Damon asks Rose, helping her off the ground to examine the bite.

“It hurts…” Rose whimpers.

You frown, already knowing what is going to happen, you knew of the false hope that she would get.

Damon’s eyes widen, “It’s healing!”

Rose tilts her head to look at her shoulder better, “Oh my God… I thought a werewolf bite was fatal!”

‘It is’ you want to say, to warn her of what is going to happen about how she’ll lose her mind. But you stay silent.

“I thought…” tears fill Rose’s eyes and Damon pulls her into his arms.

“You’re going to be okay…” he reassures her, giving you a look.

You press your lips together, nodding, leaving the room to give them their moment once more. Allowing them to live in a fantasy where Rose would be okay.

You made the decision to disappear for a few days, leaving your brothers and Elena to deal with Rose. Both of them left numerous messages on your phone.

“This is what? Call two hundred and twenty four? You’re really not going to answer them?” Klaus muses.

You sigh, shaking your head, “No. I’m not. They just want help with Rose… I don’t… I don’t want to see her like that, losing her mind… I’ve seen that happen too many times before.”

Klaus hums, “Let me guess, you’re going to ask for my blood to heal her?”

“No,” you shake your head, “She needs to die, she knows too much about you and your family, she’s a threat… besides she’s probably dead now.”

“Our family,” Klaus corrects.

You continue, ignoring him, “I just thought she’d die with a stake in her heart not from going insane.”

“Still sensitive.”

You choose to ignore his comment once again, playing the latest voicemail left by Stefan.

“Y/N, I don’t know where you are or why you left… I’m worried though… about you, about Elena… I miss you… can you please come home? Listen, Rose is dead and Damon is doing what he does best— deflecting. He’s got this new girl… Andie Star I think? I- I don’t know what happened that night, maybe you got bit too? I really hope not… Maybe you got scared… you ran… just please at least call me if you’re not going to come home… I need to know you’re okay. I love you.”

“I presume you’re going back now?”

You nod and Klaus smirks, “Excellent… I’ll be making my appearance soon.”

By time you arrived back in Mystic Falls, Elijah had been ‘dealt with’ as Damon put it. That made you anxious, you doubted they had found a white oak stake but the only alternative was a dagger, and that thought made your stomach churn.

Leaving had fractured the trust you built between your brothers, you knew it would but that was fine with you. The less you knew regarding Elijah, the better. You told them the truth, that you knew Rose was going to die - painfully and out of her mind. Damon was angry that you didn’t tell them and Stefan understood.

There was also the little fact that Katherine had been released of her compulsion. You had to admit, you were a tad anxious she’d find a way to Klaus and find out about your deal. If she ratted you out to Stefan and Damon, every part of your perfectly calculated plan would be ruined. Hopefully, Klaus would be enough to distract your brothers from you so they wouldn’t get too suspicious.

It was no secret that Niklaus Mikaelson liked making an entrance and being as you were currently not getting all the intel since they still didn’t trust you fully— Klaus decided to use one of his favorite tricks which you suggested. Body possession.

On the night of the school dance, Klaus possessed Alaric's body, revealing himself to Bonnie and Elena with dramatic flair and then he killed the Benett witch— at least that’s what you two thought.

The truth of Bonnie’s fate would be revealed on the night of the ritual when she showed up to kill Klaus with the help of Elijah.

Elijah had dug his hand into Klaus’ chest and you had no idea what to do. You couldn’t fight Elijah, that was one fight you’d certainly lose, not to mention Bonnie and all of the others being there, they’d stop you before you could lay a hand on him.

Klaus looked at you, silencing your fears with one glance before looking back to Elijah and confessing the truth, “I didn’t bury them at sea.”

His gaze flickered to you and Elijah looked to where his brother was, he hadn’t seen you in so long but still, he trusted you, so when you nod your head ever so slightly… he believes Klaus.

Two days had passed since the ritual and Klaus was now a hybrid. You had spent those two days following Elijah through the woods, cleaning up Klaus’ mess.

In fact, that’s where you currently are. It had been practically silent between the two of you, neither of you wanting to start the conversation, after all it had been nearly a hundred years. That was until you decided to open your mouth after arriving at another camp that had been ripped apart.

You move a body and scoff, “He’s not even draining them. He’s killing for sport.”

Elijah hums, “You sound shocked, you should know by now this behavior is expected of Niklaus.”

“He’s wasting perfectly good snacks,” you grumble as you throw the body to Elijah who catches it with ease.

“You’re thirsty?”

“No, Elijah, I’m annoyed,” you throw your hands up, walking closer to him, “It’s been two days since the full moon, why is he still a wolf?”

“I don’t have the answer to that.”

“Okay, well, what if he’s stuck as a wolf? Hm? Then what? We’re going to put him on a leash and have him lead us to the coffins?”

Elijah lets out a chuckle, “While that image is amusing, I’m sure he’ll be turning back soon.”

You sigh and go back to cleaning up the bodies in silence, when you’re done you both continue to follow the trail that Klaus was leaving behind, you had no doubt you’d soon run into more bodies.

“What have you been up to for the past century?” Elijah asks, walking so close that your arms brush against each other.

You come to a stop, and it takes Elijah a moment to stop and turn back, looking at you slightly confused.

“Are you serious? I was trapped, Elijah, and when I wasn’t trapped I was running from him,” you jab your finger into his chest, “from you.”

Elijah looks down at you, a frown on his face, “I haven’t been doing Niklaus’ bidding since he said he dropped all of them into the ocean… he implied that he had found you as well… that you were gone… I never did want to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Well it didn’t seem that way to me. I didn’t know that. I’ve spent the last century looking over my shoulder, not staying anywhere for more than a moment because I knew that no matter where I went, you, or him, or some minion of his would be waiting. And when I wasn’t running I was trapped… there… all alone…”

“Y/N—“

“I know what we did was unforgivable,” you say, taking a step away from him to continue following the trail and he follows, “but what he had planned for me was just cruel…”

“If it’s any consolation, none of us agreed with Niklaus’ ‘gift’.”

You let out a humorless laugh, “Is that what he called it?”

“Yes, it was intended to be given to you for your engagement… obviously you were shown sooner than intended… it was his disturbed way of welcoming you into the family officially.”

Your brows furrow, “What engagement?”

Elijah stops, seemingly realizing his mistake, “I apologize, I thought you knew… Kol…”

You stop and turn to him, “He was going to propose?” your voice breaks a bit as you will away your tears.

Elijah sighs, stopping to face you, “He had rings, new daylight rings… I do not know much of how he planned to propose, just that he planned to do it after the new year… You two had been together for so long I assume he thought it was time to ask…”

You blink a few times, before clearing your throat, “Let’s just find Klaus.”

He nods, continuing to follow the path, he can practically feel the emotions rolling off of you. Grief, sadness, anger, and even jealousy. Then there was the look on your face, the look of heartbreak. Even after all these years, he still hated to see you like this. He would always feel guilty, after all, he was the first one you met, the one who introduced you to everyone. He would forever feel at least somewhat responsible for your pain.

1869

New Orleans

It had been five years, nearly six since you ran from home, since your brothers were killed, and you were still having a hard time settling down. You found yourself in New Orleans, you loved everything about it, but there was one problem. It was hard to find work as a woman and even harder as a seventeen year old so you adapted to stealing.

You would wait by stands or alleyways and wait for the perfect target, you’d typically go for men who held their heads high as if they owned the world. Men who were so well dressed that you knew they had money to spare. Sometimes you’d even hang out near bars to find men stumbling around, too drunk to notice you taking their entire wallet.

It was late now, you were leaning against a wall when you saw him. A rather attractive man dressed in a fancy suit, you had no doubt that it had been tailor fitted to him. He begins to walk down the street, walking right past you, seemingly not noticing you. There weren’t as many people out now, normally you’d use the strangers during the day as cover but this man clearly had too much money for his good, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

As quietly as possible, you push yourself off the wall and follow behind him. You smirk when you see his wallet in his back pocket but just as your fingers graze what you assume is real leather, his hand snatches your wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You curse yourself for being so reckless. You swallow your pride and decide to try and flirt your way out. Men with the kind of money you knew he had, always enjoyed being flirted with, it boosts their already over-inflated egos.

You giggle while leaning a bit closer, “You’re even more handsome up close…”

He chuckles, “Is that so?”

“And this suit… it fits you so well…” you brush your hand along his chest.

“That’s very flattering…” he smiles, bringing his hand up to cup yours.

Hook. Line. Sinker. You had him.

“But I know what you’re doing.”

You did not have him.

Your smile fades away and you pull back from him. This had never happened before, most of the men were too dumb to figure it out (at least until they got home and found their wallets missing), it was just your luck that you’d try and rob the only smart guy around.

“How old are you?” He looks you up and down.

You gulp, “Seventeen, sir.”

He pulls his wallet from his pocket and holds it out to you, “Take it.”

“What?”

“Take it, you want my wallet? Take it.”

With shaky hands, you reach for the wallet, it was embarrassing being caught like this but you needed the money.

“Thank you…” you trail off, realizing you hadn’t learned his name.

“Elijah Mikaelson.”

Your eyes widen at the name, you had heard of the Mikaelsons before. A rich, powerful family and there were whispers all around that they were the thing you hated most. Vampires.

He smirks at your reaction, “And you are?”

“Y/N.”

He nods and smiles but it quickly fades when he glances at his watch, “Well, Miss Y/N do try to stay safe… you never know who or what may be lurking in these streets, especially at this time of night.”

And just like that, he was gone. The next time you saw him was after the new year when he pulled a newly turned vampire off of you. You saw him a third time when this exact thing happened again, you didn’t know why but you it seemed you were practically vampire bait.

After these two incidents, Elijah decided it wasn't safe for you to be on the streets any longer and invited you to come stay with him for some time before he could find something more permanent. An idea you were not so eager about when he confirmed that he and his family were in fact, vampires. But you couldn’t pass up the offer when he was offering you an actual bed to sleep in and numerous necessities. Little did either of you know that the compound would become your permanent home.

Present Day

Mystic Falls

After your conversation you had fallen behind Elijah, walking slower to keep the distance. When he called out that he had found him, you hardly even picked up the pace.

“You’ve been busy…” Elijah remarks, leaning on a tree.

“That was… amazing.” You hear Klaus’ voice before you see him.

And when you do see him you groan, spinning around and closing your eyes, “You could have told me he was naked.”

“Did you think I was carrying around his clothes these past two days for fun?” Elijah raises a brow.

“It’s been two days?” Klaus asks, you can hear him shuffling around while getting dressed.

“Full moon came and went. You remained a wolf.” Elijah states but it’s more of a question.

“I can change at will then, that’s good to know.”

Klaus smiles and then chuckles, “I remember… every single kill.”

“Yes, we’ve been cleaning up your little mess along the way.” Elijah gestures between the two of you.

“Just like old times then.”

Elijah hums, and pushes off the tree, handing Klaus his boots, “Well, you’ve had your fun. I believe we have a bargain.”

“That’s right!” Klaus exclaims, leaning down to put on his boots, “Now what was it again? Oh yeah, wait, I remember, that’s it! You wish to be reunited with our family!”

“And you!” he shouts towards you, “You want your precious Kol back…”

You turn around, finally facing him, pleased to see that he has put his pants on. You want to say something but hold your tongue, there was a time where you weren’t afraid of him but now it felt that if you even stepped a toe out of line he’d hunt you down.

Elijah brushes off Klaus’ jacket, “You gave me your word, Niklaus.”

Klaus smiles, cheekily, “And what kind of brother would I be if I broke my bond… even if you did try and kill me.”

You sigh, and Elijah holds out Klaus’ jacket for him to put on, “I could have… but I didn’t.”

Klaus puts on his jacket and fixes the collar, “And now no one can,” he turns to face Elijah, “Relax, Elijah, all is forgiven.”

He smiles at you, “That applies to you as well, love. You have more than proved yourself loyal.”

“Where are they?” Elijah cuts in.

Klaus grins, patting his brother's arm, “You need to lighten up… I’ll bring you to them soon enough.”

He walks ahead of you and Elijah, the two of you sharing a look before you scoff and follow after the hybrid. He ends up taking you to Alaric's apartment, you feel a pit in your stomach knowing that Katherine is going to be there but you do your best to push it away.

“Look who decided to come for a visit.” Katherine gestures to Stefan as you, Klaus, and Elijah enter the apartment.

“I need your help.” Stefan states, his eyes flickering to you, wondering why the hell you’re with them, there was no way for you to know what had happened to Damon so that couldn’t be it.

Elijah shuts the door, and Stefan steps closer, “For my brother.” he then looks at you, “our brother.”

Klaus clicks his tongue, “Oh well, whatever it is, it’s going to have to wait a tick. You see, I have an obligation to my brother.” he points at Elijah. “And your sister…” he points at you.

“It requires my immediate attention.” Klaus brushes past Stefan.

You hug yourself, feeling anxious of the entire situation, it was bad enough that Katherine was here and now Stefan was too.

“You understand how important family is or you wouldn’t be here.” Elijah walks a bit closer to Stefan, “My brother gave me his word that he would reunite me with my family.”

“And so I shall.” Klaus speaks from behind Elijah, Elijah spins around to face his brother but it is too late, Klaus shoves a dagger through his heart.

You feel frozen when Elijah screams, tears begin to fill your eyes, you know what is about to come and there's no point in running because he’d just catch you. Rebekah wasn’t here this time to buy you time.

His body drops to the ground with a sickening thud, his skin completely grey and you knew you would not get the privilege of a quick death.

Klaus smiles at you and the tears begin to fall from your eyes.

“Please! I- I didn’t know about Elijah’s plan! I didn’t even know he was here! I only heard rumors! I swear! You said it yourself, Klaus- I’m loyal! I’ve proved it!”

Klaus shushes you and walks closer, your body doesn’t move, you’re rooted in your spot. He brings his hand up to hold your cheek and brushes a tear away, you shudder at the touch, letting out a sob.

“Loyal…?” Stefan questions, the floorboards creaking when he steps forward.

Klaus’ gaze immediately snaps to your brother, “Another step and I’ll rip her heart out.”

“She’s my sister-“

“All the more reason for you to stay put, Stefan.”

The two stare at each other for a moment before Stefan steps back. Klaus smirks, turning back to you. You tense up when he rests his hand on your neck, another sob wracks through your body.

“Don’t do this… I did what you asked! I found the doppelgänger! I found Elena! I called you as soon as I found her! Sure- Katherine found the werewolf but I made sure you had the backup one! And you needed the backup one! And- and using Alaric was my idea! I came up with that, it was perfect! You thought it was hilarious! I’ve helped you!”

Stefan’s brow furrows at your admission, his voice barely audible as he connects the dots, “You’re the reason he’s here… that’s… that’s why you came back to Mystic Falls to find us… not because you missed us, but because you’re helping him…” 

You don’t bother to look over to your brother, you felt bad for betraying his trust, for lying to him but he could never understand, you don’t say anything, it wouldn’t matter now.

You look up at Klaus with tears staining your cheeks, “I did everything right!” your voice falls to a whisper, “Don’t make me go back there, it’s dark, Nik, I hate the dark…”

“You know, I considered you family once, I treated you as such.”

“Please Nikkie… you gave me your word…I just want him back, you promised me!”

“Oh love…” Klaus brings his hand up to brush some of the hair from your face, “You have me confused with Elijah…”

In a split second his hand falls to your neck, the sound of it snapping fills the room and he drops your body on the ground, discarding you.

Klaus turns back to Stefan who looks devastated by the news, “Don’t look so glum Stefan, you wouldn’t be the first to be tricked by your sister. She’d do anything to survive, even if it meant betraying those closest to her,” he glances at Katherine, noting the similarities.

He shakes his head, looking back at Stefan, “But that’s a story for another day…”

Klaus speeds forward, slamming Stefan into the wall, “Now… what am I going to do with you?”

Present Day

Chicago

“My sister? She knew you? All of you?”

Klaus approaches the coffins, “If you can’t handle it, don’t ask.”

Stefan looks at all of the coffins but two of them catch his attention, they’re away from the rest, almost like they’ve been isolated. One of the coffins is made of some sort of metal and they both have engravings on them that compliment each other.

Klaus notices his gaze and smirks, “I see you’ve spotted the lovers.”

“the lovers?” Stefan raises a brow.

His smirk deepens, he steps away from Rebekah’s coffin and to the others, he opens one of them, revealing a boy in clothing from the the early 1900s.

Stefan looks over the boy, completely confused he turns to Klaus who grins.

“You wouldn’t recognize him… you never had the pleasure of meeting Kol…” he brushes his hand over the engraving on the other one, “You’d recognize whose in this one though…”

Klaus could see the gears turning in Stefan’s head, his eyes widening as he pieced the puzzle together.

“My sister?” his voice breaks a bit.

Klaus laughs, “You always were quick, Ripper.”

“This is what you meant by family? You got her a coffin and a dagger? That’s family to you?”

The hybrid clicks his tongue a few times, wagging his finger, “No Stefan, I got her a coffin… I never said anything about a dagger.”

Stefan’s heart sinks at the new information, it all hit him at once, why you hated the dark, why you had to have the door open, why couldn’t stand to be in silence.

You didn’t get a century long sleep like Klaus’ siblings would, you got to lay there and rot, slowly and painfully, all alone.

“I had a witch make it, it’s spelled… only I can open it.” Klaus boasts, clearly proud of his work.

“That’s cruel, even for you.”

“Maybe so, but I must punish those who betray me accordingly.”

Klaus takes a step closer to Stefan, “You met Rebekah and I in 1920… but we did not meet by chance. I sought you out, I was looking for your sister… The girl can really run when she wants to. I was hoping you’d be able to help me find her, but you were too busy draining civilians, Ripper.”

“I wouldn’t have been helpful either way. I thought she was dead.”

“I’m aware… I thought that she’d maybe be nearby, watching, that was something she often did— check up on you and Damon. Regardless, I found her on my own in 1924.”

1924

London

Today marks four years since Rebekah’s compulsion had worn off which meant one of two things, she was dead (unlikely) or she had been daggered (very likely).

It had been four years since you remembered Kol and ten years that you had been running. You were tired, tired of running, tired of having to look over your shoulder every five seconds, tired of not having your beloved around.

Klaus was hunting you and you had done a damn good job at keeping him off of your trail, always being careful when finding a snack and making sure you were never in one place for too long.

So you decided to do the opposite, you had been in London for two weeks now, ripping through crowds of people with no remorse. You wanted Klaus to find you, you wanted him to kill you.

You’re currently in a bar full of people, well, dead people. You slaughtered everyone and now had your teeth buried in some man’s neck.

“Perhaps you’re more like Stefan than I thought.” Klaus’ voice fills the bar.

Reluctantly, you pull yourself off of the now dead, drained man. You look at Klaus with blood coating your face and staining your dress.

After staring at each other for a moment, you stand to your full height, Klaus gives you a once over before raising a brow.

“You’ve gotten sloppy, left a trail of bodies a mile long leading me right to you.”

You simply stare at him and he smirks, “You wanted to be found.”

“I can’t do this anymore… not without him. I‘m tired, Nik. Please, just end it.”

Niklaus clicks his tongue, “End it?” He takes a step towards you.

“Kill me.”

Klaus laughs, “You think I want to kill you?”

Your brows furrow and you take a step back from the hybrid, Klaus snaps his fingers and two men enter the room carrying a coffin.

You take another step back, eyes widening and Klaus grins, “You can try to run but you won’t get far…”

“No… you… you can’t dagger me…”

“You’re right, daggers are such trivial things to make… you would know after all. But a lockbox that only I can open, now that’s much simpler.”

You decide to risk it, attempting to speed away but he catches you in a second, holding you up in the air by your throat.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be back with him soon enough… consider this me officially welcoming you into the family.”

Present Day

Chicago

“What was the point of letting her out just to lock her back up? To be cruel?”

Klaus shrugs, “I was bored and decided to make her a deal in 1984.”

“1984? You kept her in there for…”

“Sixty years, Stefan. She betrayed me and those were the consequences. When I woke her up we made an agreement.”

“What kind of agreement?”

“She’d find me Katherine and bring her to me. She couldn’t ever find Katherine but she found me something even better…”

“Elena…”

“Yes, the doppelgänger.”

“So she knew the truth about your curse? That you’re a hybrid?”

“She was my family once, lived with us for nearly half a century. She knows a lot more than she led you all to believe. But don’t get any ideas, she’d never tell you anything that could hurt us… she wouldn’t risk Kol or Rebekah getting caught in the crossfire… or Elijah, though I suppose she’d be alright losing me considering she attempted to do so herself.”

“Moving on!” Klaus chirps, moving back to Rebekah, “It’s time for my little sister to wake up…”

“And I knew her?” Stefan asks, looking into the now open coffin, “I don’t recognize her.”

“Well don’t tell her that,” Klaus muses, “Rebekah’s temper is worse than mine.”

He pulls the dagger out, waiting for a moment before sighing, “Any Day now, Rebekah… she’s being dramatic.”

Present Day

Mystic Falls

It had been months since Klaus had locked you away. You were a bit surprised when he came to free you, your bones creaked, skin practically gray… still, you weren’t nearly as desiccated as the last time you had been in that coffin.

He fed you blood and brushed your hair for you as if you were a doll then provided you with a white colored dress that went to your knees, it reminded you of the one Elijah had given you when you first arrived in their home.

When Klaus revealed he was hosting a dinner with Elijah for Stefan and Damon you realized what he was doing. You were a bargaining chip.

You sat in the living room, humming to yourself, waiting for them to arrive. You still felt weak from not having blood for so long and the fact you were shaking was proof of that, the little blood that Klaus had provided was not enough.

Soon enough, your brothers arrived and were let inside by Elijah, “Niklaus, our guests have arrived…”

“Damon… Stefan…” Klaus greets, standing by the head of the dining room table, “Elijah tells me you seek an audience… very bold. Let’s discuss the terms of our agreement like civilized men, shall we?” he gestures to the large table that was set for five.

“It’s better to indulge him,” Elijah states, moving past your brothers.

“I didn’t come here to eat Klaus,” Stefan narrows his eyes, taking a step down the stairs, “I didn’t want to come here at all… but… I was told I had to, because you’d hear us out.”

Klaus hums, “Well we can sit and eat… or I can reach down your throats and pull out your insides…” he takes his seat at the head of the table, “choice is yours…”

Your brothers decide it would be best to sit and eat. Once the four brothers had sat down, Klaus sat forward in his chair, dramatically placing his hands in front of him, “I almost forgot! Sweetheart!” he calls out, “You can come out now!”

That was your que to enter, walking through the doorway and making a beeline for the table, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Elijah stands when he sees you, pulling out your chair for you and when you sit he pushes you in.

“Y/N…” Damon says quietly, it isn’t until then that you realize he hasn’t seen you since the night of the ritual.

“Damon…” you mumble in a voice so quiet that anyone without supernatural hearing wouldn’t be able to hear you.

“How are you—“ he begins but is quickly cut off by Stefan.

“She’s practically part of their freaky family, Damon, and Klaus won’t kill his family… he’ll just torture them endlessly.”

“That’s not very nice Stefan,” Klaus clicks his tongue.

You grab the glass of wine, downing it as quickly as possible. Hoping that it will not only curb your blood cravings but also make this dinner party a little more bearable. When you finish your glass, you reach for Elijah’s.

He raises a brow, shooting you an unimpressed look, “By all means, help yourself.”

You take a sip of the wine, ignoring Elijah, “Can we please get on with this dinner… I’m starved.”

“Well at least one of you is hungry… Stefan seems to have lost his appetite,” Klaus notes, nodding his head in Stefan’s direction.

Damon glances at his brother, gesturing with his fork, “Eat. I thought we agreed we’d leave the grumpy Stefan at home.”

Reluctantly, Stefan picks up his fork making Klaus smile, “That’s the spirit. Isn’t it nice? Five of us dining together? Such a treat. Is that what you had in mind when you pulled the dagger from my brother?”

Damon smiles sarcastically, “Well, I know how he felt about you, so I figured the more the merrier,” he winks playfully at Elijah.

“Well, Elijah and I have had our share of quarrels over the centuries… but we always make it through,” Klaus takes a bite of his steak.

“Kind of like you and Rebekah, right? Where is she, by the way? Last I checked, she was still daggered because you were afraid to face her,” Stefan quips, smirking over the rim of his bourbon glass.

Damon shoots a warning look at Stefan but you can’t be bothered by their conversation, you’re too focused on your bloody steak in front of you. Savoring the small amount of blood you’d get from its juices.

“If you’re referring to the fact Rebekah knows I killed our mother, I’ve already come clean to Elijah,” Klaus smiles at Elijah who has remained silent, resting his head on top of his fist.

“Hey Stef,” Damon cuts in, grabbing everyone’s attention, “remember when you killed dad? Might want to dial down on the judgement until dessert.”

You had been fighting the urge to lick the dish clean, hoping for just another drop of that delicious, bloody flavor. But Damon’s words distract you, making you look up from the plate.

“You killed dad?” you ask, looking directly at Stefan, he doesn’t verbally answer, only narrowing his eyes at you making you hum, “I always thought it was Katherine…” you fidget with your fork, pushing it across the plate. 

“You want another plate, love?” Klaus asks, his tone was sickeningly sweet, he snaps his fingers and a compelled blonde girl comes running to get your plate.

She leans over you, hair falling past her neck and you could feel the veins beneath your eyes begin to ripple. The girl's eyes widened, Klaus may have compelled her to do his bidding but he never compelled away her fear.

“Y/N,” Klaus says your name in a sing-songy tone, a warning.

Your lips part at the sound of her heart pumping, the smell of the blood in her veins, and your fangs begin to descend.

“Y/N. No,” Klaus tries again, setting his fork down.

But it was too late, you were out of your chair in a split second. You wrapped your hand around the girl’s neck, slamming her into the nearby wall hard enough to crack it, your other hand holding one of her wrists. You nearly moan at the taste of fresh blood, like an animal you can’t get enough.

Removing your hand from her neck, you flatten your palm and push the tip of chin up until it’s out of your way— effectively breaking her neck. You continue to drink, not caring as the blood stains your mouth and neck, dripping to your dress.

Klaus sighs, “One nice dinner, that’s all I ask, is that too much to ask for?”

He rises from his chair and speeds to stand behind you, “That’s enough.”

You don’t listen and Klaus decides there is only one solution to the problem he caused, snapping your neck. Your head is practically on backwards and he allows your body to fall to the ground next to the blonde, dead girl.

Damon stands up, his chair screeching but Stefan grabs his arm, dragging him back down, and Klaus clears his throat, walking back to the table as if he hadn’t just broke your neck.

Elijah sighs, excusing himself from the table, he picks up your body with ease and brings you back to the table, setting you in your seat. He twists your head so your head is facing the proper way, hoping that it’ll allow you to heal and wake sooner. The dinner would proceed as normal, other than Damon looking at your body every few seconds, it was as if nothing had happened.

When you woke, you were alone at the table and you could hear voices coming from the living room.

“Elijah… why haven’t you left?” Klaus sounds confused.

You stand up, finding your bearings.

You can hear the smugness in Elijah’s tone when he speaks, “You’ve lectured Y/N on her manners all night… but where are yours, brother? We forgot dessert.”

You take slow steps towards the living room.

“What have you done?” Klaus’ voice is panicked, he sounds betrayed.

“What have you done?” Elijah retorts, “You see, I’ve learned not to trust your vulgar promises, Klaus. We’re doing this on my terms now.”

You’ve nearly made it to the living room door way when you stop in your tracks after hearing Klaus utter a single word.

“Kol…”

“Long time brother.”

His voice, Kol’s voice. Your Kol, he was here, he was awake.

You rush to the doorway, freezing when you finally see him. Kol, he looked the same as he did on that fateful night in 1914, still wearing the same outfit. He still looked as beautiful as you remembered him to be, tears began to prick the corner of your eyes but not tears of sadness or fear, they were tears of joy.

You could see Stefan still by the fireplace where he had been burned, you could see Damon standing off to the side of Elijah, but it didn’t matter, you didn’t care about your brothers in that moment. It was as if everything around you faded away and it was just you and Kol.

“Kol…” you whisper, softly.

His gaze snaps up to find you, his eyes softening when he sees you.

“Y/N…”

Without giving it a second thought, Kol takes one of the hands restraining Klaus and uses it to snap the hybrids neck. He speeds towards you, something Damon takes note of but when he moves to get to you, to try and protect you from what he thinks is a threat; Elijah places his hand onto Damon’s chest, stopping him from moving.

You slowly bring your hands up to hold his face and he covers your hands with his, ”You’re real…” you breath out, you still couldn’t believe he was in front of you after all this time.

He smiles, chuckling a bit, “I’m real… and I’m not leaving you ever again.”

You smile, causing more tears to flow and you throw yourself into his arms, nuzzling your face into his neck, squeezing your eyes shut and welcoming the darkness that came with it because for the first time, in a century, you weren’t alone in the dark. You were with Kol, your Kol.

His arms wrap tightly around your waist, inhaling your scent that he remembers so fondly, “I missed you, my darling.”

It must have been those words that finally helped Damon connect the dots, that this was the boy, the one that changed your opinion on vampires, the one who turned you into a vampire. This was the boy you lost a century ago, the boy you’d do anything and everything to get back. Including betraying your own family.

“You’re free to go. This is family business.”

Elijah’s words made Damon realize something, you weren’t his family anymore, you hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe you never officially got married because you ran out of time but you were no longer Y/N Salvatore, you were Y/N Mikaelson. He can pinpoint the exact moment you stopped being his family and it was long before the Mikaelsons, it was when he and Stefan chose Katherine Pierce over you. That fateful night where he told you that you weren’t his family anymore.

The truth hurts and the truth was that there was no fixing your relationship with either of your brothers. The next few months would make that abundantly clear. Like when you snapped Damon’s neck after he snapped Kol’s. Or when you stood by while Kol beat Damon with an aluminum bat. And of course you stood by Rebekah when she had compelled and trapped everyone in the school. You even helped Kol slaughter all of the newly turned vampires meant for Jeremy… and you let Kol torture Damon.

So maybe you really weren’t their family anymore, maybe that’s why they wouldn’t feel as guilty about what was going to happen when Jeremy would kill Kol.

At least you wouldn’t be alone when the darkness came, you would die in the arms of your love in the middle of the Gilbert family kitchen. It didn’t matter to you that his body was still crackingly, still burning, you‘d endure the feeling of your flesh melting to his if it meant you got to hold him one last time. There would be no coming back for either of you, you knew this and accepted it. You closed your eyes and faded away into the darkness, welcoming it.

You only hoped that when you’d wake on the other side, you’d still be in Kol’s arms.

The Darkness.

The End.

[winnie-zero]

perfect marriage

joe goldberg × amy dunne

"i'm the cunt who married you."

song: perfect girl by mureux

movie/show: gone girl + you

software: capcut

all rights reserved

[frost-queen]

Masterlist

The umbrella academy

Marvel

Bridgerton

Shadow & Bone

Miraculous Ladybug

Fate: Winx saga

Stranger things

Enola Holmes

Shadowhunters

Narnia

Chilling adventures of Sabrina

Miss Peregrine’s home for peculiar children

ASOUE

Star wars

The Originals / The vampire diaries

Harry Potter fandom

Once upon a time

Outer Banks

The Sandman

Top Gun Maverick

Wednesday 

House of the dragon

Game fics

Barbie the movie

The walking dead

[winnie-zero]

loss of my life

daniel le domas × nell crain

‎"she didn't even draw the card, but she just— just couldn't handle the life of having to kill others to save our skin. and that haunts me... cause if only i knew, then i wouldn't have married her... then maybe she's still alive... the purest thing i ever had. my soul, my wife." — daniel le domas

song: night we met by lord huron

show/movie: hibm + ready or not

[winnie-zero]

X.O LN4

song: diet pepsi by addison rae

software: capcut

disclaimer: i do not own the song (but i did edit this) or any of the clips used. this is an original edit.

[winnie-zero]

4 - 2 = 2 hands

4 × 2 = tate mcrae

software: capcut

disclaimer: i do not own the song but i did cut it.

[winnie-zero]

transactional

felix × anora

song: bathroom by montell fish

movie: saltburn + anora

i don't know why but i have this imagination of a what if. like what if when felix was partying in a club, anora met him instead of vanya then fun happened between them and felix grew to like her. i just knew he would like anora, cause who wouldn't like her? she's beautiful, she's great, a queen, she could stand up for herself and could definitely fire back whenever she's in an unfair position. and her job is no joke, i'm not even gonna romanticize that or anything. and felix— who doesn't like felix? like it's hard to love felix.

i could just imagine the level of upgrade she would get if she only married or at least got into a relationship with fel instead. like, the man has taste. he has common sense, he has a heart, he's responsible, he has brains, he's educated, his peers are decent, his home is fantastic, he could handle himself, he's rich, matured at the very least and his family adores him.

the cattons, though has their own types of nuts in their back pockets, would surely accept her and let her in. not why not, but cause of this idea that if felix is happy and trusts anora, then okay. sure, there'll be some tight spots and daddy might scrutinize her by her career and farleigh might poke around and test what kind is she but mostly, they won't mind. and i would love to see venetia do some shopping and salon with ani, ani having some chat and gossip session over champagne with elspeth in gown, and anora have some argument with farleigh cause they're both divas at their own right and they might have bits of common ground? cause farleigh is also from the lower class working his way up and keeping stations in saltburn.

for me, or the one perched on my left shoulder, someone like (but not exactly) felix would definitely treat her better than just the girl who likes pole but as the person she is. felix judges and befriends people by their character, like what happened to him and oliver— aww, poor ollie, am gon' be his friend huhu— but anora isn't like that. she's honest, she's open, she don't accept pity or shits and just be herself; and she do what she has to do while also hoping that someday, she'll get her star and fly away far from the strip club and live a life she deserves.

so, even if it might be transactional at first between anora and felix, i feel like the feelings fel paid for will eventually come true. and they'll be perfect for each other. cinderella and prince charming in a place called saltburn. but, well, ollie oil unfortunately exists— at the end, we accept the love we thought we deserve.