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wholoveseggs · 1 month

Note

I also have another one!! I’d love to see like Rebekahs friend(the reader) and Elijah’s love story. Like how they met(maybe in the Victorian age or Viking) and just them through the eras! If that is something you would be interested in doing! Like no problems just a cute little thing about their story through the time 💕💕 as always no pressure 💕

Worth the wait

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You and Elijah are childhood friends, dipping in and out of each others lives for the past one thousand years. You hope that one day you will have a chance to be together and find the love you've always longed for.

♡♡ Thanks for the requests @ashloring & @loving-and-dreaming I got these requests back to back and I thought they were perfect combined together. Sorry it took so long, I really wanted to do this story justice... hopefully it is... ♡♡

7.1k words - Warnings: smut, angst, reminiscing, playful sex, Elijah being very silly and sappy.

You were always fated to love him from afar. From the first moment you ever laid eyes on Elijah — you knew deep down that you would love him as long as you lived. What you didn't know was how long that would be.

You grew up together in a quaint viking village, learning to hunt and forage. He pushed you around, pulled your braids and teased you. You gave back as much as you got, biting and scratching until you were both on the ground tousling around in a full blown battle to prove who was the winner.

The nature of your play fighting changed when you became teenagers, arms still grabbing, but now holding a little bit longer, hands lingering, brushing one anothers faces. Eyes meeting, always with a blush and hasty awkward parting.

When his mother caught you laying on his bed together, fully clothed with a few shy pecks here and there, she sent you away. From that point on, you barely spoke, too embarrassed and flustered to communicate.

You grew up and grew apart, watching him and his family from afar. There was always a darkness over the Mikaelson household, a lingering sense of unease that kept everyone in the village back.

Still the sight of him was enough to brighten your day. Even though you stayed far away from him and his family, Elijah often found you sitting near him, the two of you were simply drawn to each other.

Life was perfect and peaceful until one night, screams echoed in the darkness, sending you from the safety of your bed. It was coming from his home, so you quickly grabbed the only weapon you could find and ran towards the sound.

What you found was beyond anything you could imagine, death and magic combined as the family mutated into a monster to rival the ones of mythological tales.

Esther spotted you and forced you to your knees, laying beside Elijah's body as she began her spell. Once you were tied by mystical cords you didn't understand, she muttered the same incantations she had spoken over each of her children.

That was your last night as a human, the last night you were alive.

Life as an original vampire was unexpected, it came with anger, lust, bloodlust, and unmatched supernatural strength that took adjusting.

Luckily you weren't entirely alone, you had the Mikaelson siblings, teaching each other, being patient, especially Elijah. Together you mastered every nuance in becoming the strongest predator there was.

While you may have been turned against your will, you quickly accepted this new existence. The freedom that came with an endless future proved rewarding with each sunrise.

But soon the prospect of an endless future turned into a curse and you learned the only true enemy of an original was time itself.

Eternity felt hollow as you watched every friend you made grow old and die while you were forced to continue on. Leaving you, haunted and depressed with no escape in sight.

And the only group of people who understood your plight suffered from their own problems. You spent your first five hundred years with them, moving around from country to country before you needed to take a long break from them.

You hoped that Elijah would always keep his heart, stay gentle and kind, but that was impossible. He matured into someone cunning and ruthless, his humanity slowly slipping away, tainted by the brutalities of this life.

The constant bickering, hateful arguments and petty jealousy between them drove you away. After those years you decided to live independently, only visiting the Mikaelson's every couple centuries, trying your best to keep hold of your humanity, while feeling lost in the ever flowing sea of time.

You sat out front a quiet little cafe, sipping on a espresso and browsing your phone. Modern technology was still such a trip to you, just one change after another in an impossible to keep up with world. Everyday some new gadget popped up.

You remembered a time when it took weeks to travel from one place to another. For a letter to make its way took months. And now you could press a button on the piece of glass in your hand and have a face to face conversation with someone on the other side of the world.

It was fascinating, these human inventions that filled their mundane lives. You envied how enraptured they were in their invented distractions. Not everything changed, humans were still so desperate for a simple illusion to fill the boredom of the days drudgery.

But today wasn't an ordinary day for you, today you had a date. Or at least, you wanted it to be a date, Elijah probably saw it as just meeting up with an old friend.

He sat down across from you, handsome as ever, elegant and charming, just as you remembered. Dressed in a black suit, the perfect mix of old fashioned and contemporary.

But when he smiled at you, all your trepidation melted away. It was the same familiar smile you fell in love with, holding that bright twinkle in his eyes and showing off those dimples.

"It's been a while," he said with a faint smile.

"Just a little," you smirked playfully.

He always had the same mannerisms, crossing his legs and holding his body with poise. However in the centuries you spent around him, you learned all his tells. The way he always touched his face when uncomfortable, his tendency to play with his hands.

"How have you been?" he asked, leaning back in his seat as he ordered a cup of coffee.

He politely thanked the waitress that delivered it, before taking a sip, his dark eyes set intensely on yours.

"Me, oh I've been..." you let your voice trail off for a moment, swallowing the memories that threatened to steal your poise.

But Elijah knew what you were thinking, not having seen one another for so long, the memories of the last time you saw eachother tried to force their way back to the front of your mind.

It was the 1950s, and you ran into him in New York of all places. It was the first time you thought you actually had a real chance with him, but he was plagued by his missing siblings, his rage at his brother turned him into a man you barely recognized.

Watching him torture people for information, murdering innocent bystanders didn't seem out of the ordinary anymore, this new Elijah was beyond ruthless. He was a man devoted only to killing his enemies.

Today he seemed far different, poised and kind. The Elijah you fell in love with as a girl had somehow resurfaced and seemed quite eager to make your acquaintance. Or perhaps you just wanted to see him as the man you have always loved, a possibility of a future with him you always dreamed of.

"I guess we haven't really kept in touch," you murmured softly. "I've been off doing my thing and I've missed you more than words could say. Though... you obviously haven't missed me, being so busy playing king of the vampires," you teased him.

"Well someone has to keep the order," he said with a smirk.

"And you think you're the best man for the job?" you raised your brows.

His gaze met yours, he couldn't help the nostalgia that built up in him. Seeing you staring at him, reminded of the times when he first fell in love with you. He had both just turned thirteen and it was like he was seeing you for the first time, dancing around the fire with ribbons in your hair. All the times he would look at you, getting flustered, only to see you looking back at him with the same unspoken feeling between you.

"Well it's either me or Niklaus," Elijah answered as he took a drink.

"Fair enough," you laughed softly and sighed.

Elijah loved that laugh, the way it made your eyes light up. His heart melted, seeing you looking so beautiful. He never stood a chance, you could have your pick of any man, ones who would worship the ground you walked on, ones that could give you a happy life.

"I trust the family is doing well?" you asked with an even gaze.

He nodded. "I have a niece now, Hope. She's brought light back into my family," he smiled slightly.

You loved seeing him this way, happy and hopeful, exactly the way it should be.

"I can't believe it, Niklaus a father. Angels weep," you jested with a laugh.

"Well sometimes you have to set aside your misgivings and make room for surprises," he smirked.

"Spoken like a true mediator," you replied, toasting him with your mug.

You talked for what seemed like forever, catching up on lost time, simply taking in one another's presence. His gaze lingered on you, admiring your confidence. You've always had that glow, drawing everyone in with your easy nature.

"Now tell me, how was your time in Paris?" Elijah asked curiously.

"Has Elijah Mikaelson been keeping tabs on me?" You teased him and laughed.

"I've managed to keep track of a few things," he smirked.

"Nothing you didn't already know, I've spent the past few decades indulging in one thing or another," you answered honestly. "Wine, art, food, sex…”

"How do I fall into those categories?" he chuckled, cocking his head to the side.

"Hmmm, I want to say art but I don't want to feed your ego, so wine it is," you grinned.

"Not sex?" he questioned with a grin.

You shrugged and sipped on your drink, trying to conceal the hot blush spreading over your skin.

"I wouldn't know, now, would I?" you teased him.

It was meant to be a question, that's what you intended, however it came out as an admission and you winced slightly, embarrassed that your nerves were starting to take over.

Elijah loved flirting with you, it felt different than with anyone else, there was something about it, like he was doing it for the first time, all nerves and awkwardness. He saw the flush and pink in your cheeks, the same sweet little blush from a thousand years ago, he knew you felt the same way.

"Would you like to?" he asks curiously.

"Please, Elijah..." you laughed off his question.

You shuffled in your seat nervously. Not believing that Elijah had actually seen the potential for romance. He was just teasing, friendly banter between old friends.

"How's your dating life?" You asked, steering the conversation away from the uncomfortableness you were feeling.

"You're asking me out?" he smirked.

"Fuck off," you chuckled playfully. "I was only going to ask if you are still pinning after Katherine," you teased.

"Now who's keeping tabs?" He countered with a smile.

"Do you blame me? C'mon, give me all the delicious gossip."

"Well.. I finally found her. We had lots of sex, then I dumped her," he quipped.

"Oh my, Elijah, a heartbreaker," you smirked.

"Yes, that's me. Now you, I've always wondered who you were with?" Elijah brought the attention back to you, waiting for an explanation.

You rolled your eyes and relaxed into the chair. "Men, women, witches, werewolves…” you joked.

"Not sex, I meant love. Did you meet anyone that holds your heart?" He clarified, fiddling with his hands under the table, both excited and nervous to hear what you had to say.

You got a little flustered and swallowed, shrugging it off as nothing. There was no one. You certainly met some contenders over the years, but no one came close to the man that sat across from you.

"Love is exhausting," you replied casually. "Much like everything in this life, it's all the same. At the end of the day, you're left feeling empty."

He listened. He understood what you mean, eternity can feel so empty. But he felt an optimism when he was around you, no longer did he feel chained to life, to time.

"I don't agree," he murmured softly, "I think you just haven't found it yet."

"Elijah, c'mon," you laughed a bit and shook your head.

It seemed as though every date you had in the last ten centuries paled in comparison. When you were with him it just felt different, it wasn't lust, or an insatiable need to be around him. It was peace, it was comfort, he felt like home and it was special.

"No, really," he paused and smiled softly. "C'mon, lets go for a walk, I'll show you," he stood up, reaching his hand towards you.

You stood, and began walking, chatting about old times. He reminded you of the day you spent together in 1599 where you saw Shakespeare's Julius Caesar at the Globe theater, both of you sitting up in the rafters with the best view there was.

One thing led to another and the two of you ended up chasing one another all around the city, drinking far too much rum and dramatically reenacting the stabbing in a fit of giggles.

You reminded him of the time in the 1650s in Spain where you witnessed a beautiful redhead attempt to flirt with him by twirling her fan and covering half her face. It just resulted in the both of you mocking her mercilessly, a small giggle escaped your lips when you remembered his laughter.

"She was so in love with you, but could barely hold a conversation with you, what was her name? The one with all the freckles," you chuckled.

"Ugh... not Silvia. I haven't thought about her in a very long time. Fortunately she went and married some merchant banker and left me alone," he chucked, guiding you towards a nearby garden.

You walked down a tree-shaded path, crossing a bridge over a trickling creek, and past the playground where children giggled as they played. Elijah led you towards a gazebo, passing by an elderly couple enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon.

"I thought you were going to show me how to find love?" you teased, elbowing him playfully.

He chuckled and put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against him.

"Look at them over there, two people growing old together," he said softly, nodding towards the couple."That's a beautiful story right there, it goes from meeting, to dating, to falling in love, to having a marriage full of ups and downs. Every difficult time, every disagreement, every moment of compassion and reassurance is enough to have them stay together." He looked at you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You listened closely, hanging on every word, studying his expression. Looking up at him as the sunlight came shining through the leafy branches of the trees.

"I bet if we asked them they would tell us the secret to it all," you said quietly, looking back over at the little old couple.

They were wrapped up in their own world, swaying ever so slightly to the soft music playing nearby. Their love for one another so bright.

Elijah stood and walked over to them, sitting down on the bench next to him. You paused for a moment and then followed him, moving to the empty spot beside him.

"Excuse me," Elijah spoke in a voice hushed and sincere. "We just wanted to know," he continued, gently compelling them to answer, "what is the secret of love?"

"Well, I guess, patience," the woman answered sweetly.

The man slowly blinked, his head cocking to the side as he answered, "trust, communication, passion..."

"What is your favorite memory together?" You asked politely, leaning forward.

They looked at one another and burst into hearty, genuine laughter.

"Doing dishes, long drives, waking up to breakfast in bed, cuddling under a blanket in the winter, or just a hug after a bad day..." she answered wistfully.

"All the quiet moments in-between, like coming home after a hard day of work and changing into our comfy clothes," he paused and grabbed her hand, "putting on a movie and just ordering in. We can lay there in one another's arms, always together in that bubble of comfort."

You smiled softly. There's something about the simplicity of it, and the sheer joy in doing those things with the one you love. The ordinary and everyday.

Elijah glanced over at you with a smile, then thanked the couple.

"Thank you, you've been wonderful," Elijah finished kindly.

"I hope you and your lady are just as happy as we are," the man said, turning to kiss his wife lovingly on the cheek.

"I'm sure of it," Elijah stood up and began walking away, holding his hand out for you.

You stood up and intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze as you mouthed a thank you towards the elderly man.

"Does that answer your question? Love just happens and it's imperfectly wonderful," Elijah said simply.

"Have you ever found a love like that?" you asked curiously.

He paused and a thoughtful expression fell over his face, wondering where to begin. He placed his hand over yours, stroking the back of your knuckles as he looked deep into your eyes, confessing a feeling he's hidden all this time.

"Only once, when I was too young to understand what I had," he admitted softly. "We were only children then."

Your heart began to beat faster, hearing him say it out loud made your breath hitch in your throat.

"And what about now?" You asked in a near whisper, afraid of what he would say, but unable to live without the answer.

He grinned and suddenly scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder, just like when you would play flight as children.

You squealed and laughed out in delight.

"What are you doing?" You giggled loudly, slapping his back, but he simply ignored you.

"Reminiscing," he answered swiftly.

"This is hardly reminiscing," you teased.

"To me it is, with you in my arms, laughing," he added cheekily.

You were incredibly flustered, but you didn't want this to stop. It was silly, and unexpected and made you think about all the times you two were together as children. It made you feel as you always did with him, free, alive, all nerves and blushing and awkward touches.

So you just rested your chin against him and giggled loudly as you watched the ground pass by underneath you.

"Where are you taking me?" you questioned softly.

He smiled and didn't answer, biting his lip as he tightened his grip on you.

It didn't take long for you to spot the bridge you walked over, carrying you out onto the sidewalk outside the gardens.

He pulled you up and set you back on your feet, both of you giggling breathlessly, your hands on his chest, his hands on your waist.

The two of you stood there for a moment, eyes scanning one another's face, catching your breaths and gazing longingly. His gaze focused on your lips, while yours focused on his eyes, the fondness in them made your cheeks heat up.

His grip tightened around you, your hands fisting in his shirt as he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

You swore you could have floated away that moment. His hands cradled your face as you pulled him closer. Your lips parting for him as he deepened the kiss.

You pulled away from the kiss after a moment. "Can we talk about that for a minute?" you said, your gaze fell away, finding it hard to meet his eyes, your heart felt like it would burst from the surges of love that came pouring out.

He shook his head and kissed you again, brushing his nose against yours, a smile across his lips.

"Lets not speak... lets keep kissing," he whispered with a soft laugh.

You smiled and closed your eyes, tilting your head back, enjoying the feel of him loving you after such a long time. The feel of his body against yours.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and just taking a moment to enjoy your company. The feeling of your breath against his skin.

"So... let's talk," he smirked against your lips and traced his fingers down the side of your face.

He felt you nod. "Mmm, in bed," you murmured and stole another kiss.

"Okay," he nodded and swiftly scooped you into his arms.

"Nice place," you commented lightly as your eyes scanned over the art and furniture in the compound. "I can see you were in charge of the decor," you said cheekily.

He laughed. "Naturally, darling," he replied. "Klaus is always out for blood and I had to ensure it wasn't on every wall."

Elijah led you down a hallway to a lavish bedroom, opening the door and ushering you in, shutting it carefully behind him. He held you close, his hand on your waist, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear and pulling you in for a kiss.

"Do you remember the last time we were in bed together?" He asked softly.

"You brought me into your home under false pretenses, you said you were going to show me a dagger your father had," you replied, recalling the time you were teenagers, kissing in his bed, all nerves and eagerness.

"I really did want to show you that dagger, my intentions were innocent that evening," he protested lightly. "But then you laid down on my bed, making yourself at home, and there you were, wearing such a sweet little dress with such tantalizing seams all over."

"I can't believe you remember the dress I was wearing," you said, placing your hands on his chest and toying with the buttons of his shirt.

He chuckled. "I remember everything about that day," he smiled, "it was my first kiss, how could I not memorize every detail?"

"What else do you remember?" You asked softly, looking into his eyes.

"I remember laying down beside you, I was so nervous," he admitted softly. "We laid on our backs for a while, just chatting. Your hand brushed against mine and I wrapped my fingers with yours, scared you would push me away," he looked away, lost in the memory, smiling softly.

"I was so sure that you would, but you didn't and we grew quiet, all nerves, side by side." He looked back at you, a twinkle in his eye.

"We could hear the sounds of the village outside as it prepared for the feast. We laid there like that, my heart racing, thumb tracing your palm. I turned to face you, you wore this little shy smile. And there I was, frozen by the way you looked."

"Your hair was braided and those perfect lips were slightly parted," he cupped your cheek, grazing his thumb over your bottom lip. "I was terrified to mess it all up."

You were speechless, all you could do was smile and laugh softly. He began to guide you back towards his bed, still talking as he undressed you slowly, "But we laid there just staring, and gazing into each other's eyes. Slowly I leaned closer, so close we were breathing each other in, just sharing a breath, trying not to spook one another."

"And then, before I knew it, your lips found mine and all of my nervousness melted away. Slow, soft kisses, that little braid tickling my neck and the taste of the berries you had earlier still sweet on your lips."

You blushed at the memory, his words making you tear up, you couldn't believe he remembered.

"Your hands were shaking against my chest, so I lifted them to my lips," he stopped talking for a moment, reenacting the memory by kissing your hands once more.

"Then your mother walked in," you commented, smiling at his gesture.

He smirked against your skin. "Well, before she did," he began, he spoke softly as he slowly unzipped the back of your dress, letting it fall to your feet. "I was... learning the taste of your lips," he continued slowly. "They still taste the same, lovely and sweet,"

His eyes scanned over you, taking in the sight of the most beautiful woman in the world, right there in his room, standing there in nothing but a lacy black bra and underwear.

You smiled and tugged on the buttons of his shirt, eagerly undoing them and pushing his shirt off of his shoulders as you began kissing along his jaw.

"It feels like yesterday," you whispered, moaning against his lips as his hands went to your waist, his fingertips dancing over your skin.

The sensation tickled and made you giggle, trying to pull his hands away but that just sent a whole new wave of laughter bubbling out of you as he pulled you against him with a grin.

The two of you stumbled backwards to the edge of the bed, kissing deeply and continuing to undress each other as you fell onto the mattress in a fit of laughter.

He pinned you down, but you pushed him off, the two of you beginning to wrestle for the upper hand. You giggled and squealed as he tickled you mercilessly, kissing along your neck and biting playfully, all while his fingers danced and caressed over your stomach.

"Elijah, STOP! Hahaha," you pleaded, squirming beneath him. "Stop stop," you laughed.

"What's wrong, my little love," he asked playfully, grabbing your wrists in his hand and pinning them above your head.

You kissed him quickly, grinning when he released you, "Let me breathe!" you said with a laugh.

He smiled warmly, glancing down at your smiling lips. "You make me feel like a teenager again," he admitted softly, then began tickling your sides again, catching you off guard.

You squealed, squirming in his grip and playfully struggling to break free. You could feel his erection brushing against you, his hips pressing between your thighs as he continued to attack you.

"Eli!” You gasped, wriggling your body under him, wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping him over onto his back.

He was laughing along with you, his breathing heavy as he settled beneath you, grinning up at you. “I surrender, you have bested me,” he said, looking up at you in awe.

You smiled and sat back on his lap, "oh don't give me that cheeky grin," you replied, wrinkling your nose at him.

His hands fell to your thighs, squeezing them as he smiled. You rocked your hips slowly, grinding yourself on his cock. He moaned softly, his mouth hung open as he watched the way you moved above him. Your lace panties rubbing over the rough material of his pants.

"I've dreamed of this for centuries," he confessed in a whisper. "You on my lap, your hands on me, the beauty of your body..."

Your eyes glanced down as he spoke, admiring his abs and the V-shaped muscles running down below his waistband. You made eye contact and started to slowly unhook your bra, letting it fall to the ground before tossing it to the floor.

He groaned softly, admiring the softness of your breasts and the perk of your nipples. You caught him staring and smiled, taking his hands into yours and placing them on you, urging him to touch you.

He sat up, capturing a nipple between his lips, leaving a trail of kisses along your breasts, cupping and massaging them in his hands. He kissed up your chest to your neck and found your lips again, kissing you slowly and passionately. He broke the kiss, glancing into your eyes with a look of raw, aching love.

"You know what would have happened if my mother didn't walk in?" He murmured, keeping his voice low and hushed, nearly a whisper.

You simply shook your head.

"I would've put my head between these thighs," he continued, squeezing them in his strong hands. "I would've made you giggle and squirm until you surrendered to my lips," he grabbed your hips and rocked you along his length, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"You would've gotten me pregnant," you chuckled, thinking back to how naive and innocent the two of you were, no idea of the consequences of what you had been attempting.

He smiled and grabbed your face gently, "then I would have made you my wife," he grinned and leaned forward, whispering against your lips, "and we would have grown old together, watching our little ones run through the village... a full happy life," he kissed you again.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I always dreamed of waking up to your beautiful face every morning," he said softly. “Perhaps if time and circumstances treated us kindly…”

You felt a little sad at his words, imagining the perfect little life you could have had together. "I would have liked that," you said slowly, gazing into his kind eyes.

You held a gaze with him for a moment before kissing him again, reaching down to his pants, unbuttoning them with slow, careful movements. He watched as you tugged them down and off of his legs and then lowered down to kiss him again, rubbing your core against his length.

He pulled your panties to the side, tracing his fingers over your clit, rubbing it with slow and loving circles.

You broke the kiss, your forehead pressed against his, your eyes shut tightly as he pleasured you, massaging your clit with expertise. "‘lijah...," you let out a little moan. "Where did you learn that?"

He grinned, biting his lip as he watched the pleasure on your face. "I've been practicing with all these other women, waiting to have a chance with you." He replied.

You opened your eyes, an expression of faux hurt painted across your face. "Are you trying to say I was your last resort?"

He grabbed the back of your neck with a playful smirk, "you are my only choice, my love," he guided you back to his lips and kissed you deeply, his free hand cupping your ass, tugging you against him.

"Only choice," you repeated between kisses, grinding on his fingers as he pleased you.

"I love you, it was only ever you," he declared, his eyes scanning your face with intensity.

You smiled and stole another kiss from him. "Then, prove it," you whispered against his lips.

He grinned and pulled his hand away, suddenly ticking your sides again and making you laugh and whimper out playfully as he flipped you over onto your back.

You were laughing uncontrollably, grinning as you kissed him back while he tickled you. You gasped for air and submitted beneath him as he kissed and nipped his way down your body.

Finally, he made his way to your core, hooking a finger under the lace and pulling your panties down. He tossed them to the floor and dove in, draping your thighs over his shoulders, burying his mouth into you.

You gasped, laughing as you fell back onto the mattress, rocking your hips against him. He grinned up at you as he swiped his tongue over your clit.

"Allll these women, practice, and nothing to show for it," you sighed as you teased him, breathy and laced with laughter.

He looked up, a flash of competitiveness crossing his face as he eased two fingers inside you and nipped at the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your teasing was replaced with mewls and moans as you ran your fingers through his hair and rode his tongue, soft curses and whispered pleas were all you managed to get out.

He closed his eyes and took his time, one hand around your thigh, stroking circles over your skin, while his tongue and fingers worked in union. He couldn't believe he had you, right here, and he intended to make you feel every bit of love he had to offer.

He smirked against your heat as you tightened your grip on his hair, pulling him closer, grinding your hips against his mouth. He has dreamed of this moment for one thousand years, but the real thing was so much better than he had ever imagined.

You trembled and squeezed your legs around him, moaning and gasping as you were pulled closer to your climax. He urged you on as you fucked his mouth, whimpering softly, your free hand bunched up the bed sheets.

The stimulation was too much as he hummed and sucked your clit, your body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. Your thighs gripped his head like a vice and your body stiffened as you cried out his name, digging your heels into the bed to try and ride it out on his mouth.

You tugged his head away, panting and trying to regain control of your body, your head still spinning.

You gasped and laughed, covering your face.

He smirked, as he wiped his mouth on your thigh.

You smiled down at him, "okay…maybe one thousand years was enough time to gain some skill," you chuckled, pulling him close for a kiss.

His hands trailed over your breasts, slowly kneading them and rolling your nipples between his fingers. You mewled softly against his lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He kissed your forehead, your nose and along your jaw, sucking a hickey into the side of your neck, watching it instantly heal. He could do this forever, tasting your skin and listening to the perfect little sounds you made.

You pushed gently on his chest, urging him to lay down, which he did happily, holding your hand as he laid on his back.

You peppered kisses down his neck to his chest, biting at his firm chest muscles and kissing down his toned abs, making your way to his erection.

"I've learned some skills as well," you teased, pressing kisses up the side of his length, placing a final kiss to the tip.

He groaned softly, smiling down at you, "oh really? I'd love to see that," he whispered encouragingly.

You opened your mouth slowly and lowered down, taking him all the way into your mouth. He moaned softly, tilting his head back and biting his lip as his fingers tangled in your hair.

You swirled your tongue around him, using the tips of your fingers to stroke the base, glancing up to watch the way his body reacted to your movements.

His lips were parted, his eyes shut. As his breathing grew ragged he smiled softly, letting his head fall back against the pillows as you pleasured him.

You hummed, bobbing up and down along his shaft, savoring the sweet sounds that left his throat.

He began to tug on your hair, taking handfuls as you quickened the pace, licking and sucking enthusiastically, slurping as you sucked on the tip.

You released his cock with a pop, stroking and pumping him in your hand, using your spit to keep it slick. You traced your thumb over the head, tapping him against your tongue.

He moaned softly, gripping the headboard with his free hand, slowly bucking his hips.

You took him in again, one final time, swirling your tongue, bobbing and sucking, pushing him all the way down your throat.

He let out a long, sexy groan as he reached his peak. "Yes, darling, yes... just like that...I'm-" he grunted, before spilling over your tongue with a deep, guttural moan.

You swallowed, licking and sucking him, milking him completely before pulling off. He stared down at you, his face was clenched and contorted, an expression of pure pleasure painted across his features. Then he sat up slowly pulling you against him in a messy kiss.

"How was that?" You asked softly against his lips.

He grinned against your mouth and kissed you again, cradling your face. "I don't think there are words that could describe...," he took a moment to catch his breath before continuing, his eyes lidded, still high on his climax. "How much I love you," he whispered against your lips.

"I bet you say that to every girl that has given you good head," you teased.

He furrowed his brow, watching your little grin. "Do you think I use that word lightly?... I love you, only you...," he pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes.

You ran your fingers through his hair, studying his features as you smiled.

"I love you too, Elijah," you whispered, pressing a slow, caring kiss to his lips.

You found yourself suddenly overwhelmed with love, with the memory of all the lost time you had missed with him. Tears formed in your eyes as you kissed him, causing him to break the kiss.

He studied your expression with worry. "What's the matter?" He asked softly.

"I don't want to miss another day," you replied, brushing away your tears, a goofy smile across your face.

He smiled at you with a chuckle. "Well, darling, we just have one thousand years of catching up to do," he said softly, wiping away your tears. "Not to mention all the other days to come after,"

You let out a little laugh as he pulled you into his arms, his strong hands roaming over your curves as he flipped you back underneath him.

"I can't wait," you said breathlessly, pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

Elijah smiled against your lips and kept one hand at your waist as he dragged the tip of his cock over your pussy, drenched from the pleasure and anticipation. He eased in slowly, sinking inside your warm center and muffling a groan against your neck. You let out a soft sigh, feeling so complete now that you were finally connected.

He lifted his head and gazed into your eyes, placing a hand against your cheek as he started to thrust slowly. He was quiet as he rolled his hips, his gaze flickering between watching his cock slowly sliding in and out of you, covered in your wetness, and you, biting your lip, your eyes squeezed shut as he filled you.

You moaned at his size, already sensitive from your last orgasm, the stretch felt amazing, your nails digging into his firm muscles. His large hands were clutched around your hips, steadying you as he fucked you in a slow, gentle pace.

"Listen to you," he grinned, "making such beautiful sounds for me," he praised, nipping at your ear.

His words went straight to your core as your breathing grew raspy, squeezing his cock so tightly that you pushed him out of you, moaning quietly.

"Mmm," he bit his lip, tapping his cock against your clit and then ran it back and forth over your wetness, admiring the view before guiding his cock back into you. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He asked softly, dropping a kiss to your forehead.

You shook your head, your eyes still shut. "No, you are just...very well-endowed, that's all," you giggled..

He rocked inside you for a moment, his hands gripping your hips. "Should I stop?" He whispered.

"Don't you dare stop, you owe me one thousand years of this," you cupped his cheek, pulling his face to yours, pressing your lips together.

"Who am I to deny you?" He kissed you slowly, his tongue danced with yours as he found his rhythm again, thrusting deep, his hands holding your thighs open.

He bit your lip and gazed at you, still not totally believing the vision of beauty beneath him.

The pure sexual lust that had built up between you paired with the overflowing love you felt for each other, made everything more intense. Your orgasms building, the clench around his length, the grip of your hands on his muscles. It felt like time had stopped for you both, existing only in the carnal moment you were sharing.

He moaned as you tightened around him, pushing your knees up to your waist to deepen his thrust. He trailed one hand down your soft skin and ran a thumb over your swollen clit, rubbing it in slow, tender circles.

You gasped and whimpered out his name, you were so sensitive and yet were so close to tumbling over again, "please, don't stop," you whispered urgently, a pleading look in your eyes.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and continued rubbing your clit, rolling his hips, giving you long, passionate strokes.

"That's it, that's it," he whispered through grunts. "Just like that, my darling," he breathed, lowering down to kiss you.

The love you made was passionate and sweet, soft and timid. It felt like it was all meant to be, pure, passionate love, made only for each other.

He used all his willpower to hold back his own, wanting to feel you release around him. Your body slowly stiffened, squeezing around his length, making him moan deeply. He didn't stop moving, encouraging you with gentle words in your ear and kisses to your cheek.

He couldn't hold on any longer, feeling you twitch, your mouth hung open in a silent moan as you reached your peak. A quiet, guttural groan rumbled deep in his chest as he spilled his warm cum inside you.

He pressed his forehead to yours as he breathed heavily, whispering sweet praises and confessions as you both held one another, sharing small and gentle kisses.

He rolled on to his side, bringing you with him, keeping you connected and moving your thigh over his hip to bury himself deeper. Neither of you wanted to let go of the feeling of being joined.

He snaked one arm behind your back to draw you even closer, and reached the other up to brush your hair out of your face. He kissed you deeply and ran his fingertips over your soft skin, moving them up and down your back as you looked into one another's eyes.

"That was..." you sighed happily.

"Yeah..." He smiled softly and let his eyes wander over your features, as if trying to sear it into his brain.

"I can't believe we waited so long to do this," you whispered, stroking your hands up and down his arms.

"Our days of waiting are over," he smiled softly, leaning down to kiss you again. His mouth on yours, swallowing your little moans, his fingers stroking your sides, both of you completely consumed by the other.

The room was dimly lit, candle flames casting a warm glow around you. Time finally gave you a break, let you have this moment you both were longing for all these years.

He loved you. You loved him, and now you were finally together. After one thousand years, it was well worth the wait.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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klausysworld · 8 months

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hello you can write something cute for yandere klaus mikaelson, where klaus and y/n are not a couple (and he hasn't kidnapped her) but even so klaus is super obsessed with her and everyone knows it because it's obvious, from the amount of things that klaus he gives and does it for her, and one day they both meet at a party in mystic falls and klaus takes the opportunity to ask y/n for a dance, and she does not reject him and during the entire dance klaus does not stop whispering words of adoration to her and how much loves her

The lengths of his love

Klaus was hooked straight away.

Day one, in Alarics body, he had his eyes on her. He didn’t know what was special about her but something was whether everyone else could see it or not didn’t matter to him.

Something about the way she moved was mesmerising, her scent enticing and beauty entrancing.

Everyone tried to keep her from him but they couldn’t stop him from her. Couldn’t stop him from following her around, watching her. He could tell that everyone was on edge when he was near her, when he would do anything he could to brighten her day. And when the Save Elena Gang tried to stop him, we’ll his gestures just got more dramatic. He enjoyed knowing that the array of roses and a ridiculous amount of chocolates would make her grin, make her blush and how his poetry would make her giggle but she would saved every last stem of a flower, every empty box of treats and every note he left. He just hoped this meant that she would give him the time of day.

So when the opportunity presented itself, he took it.

Seeing her stood there, all dolled up and smiling as her friends danced.

He approached her almost cautiously but shook his head to himself and plucked the courage to tap her shoulder.

Her head turned to him in response and her lips pulled into a small smile at the sight of him

“Hi Klaus” she greeted softly and he grinned

“Hello my love” he whispered, his voice not getting any louder despite him clearing his throat multiple times making her smile grow at his obvious nervousness. His eyes glanced to hers and he inhaled a breath before speaking “would you like to dance?” He asked quietly and she nodded, taking his outstretched hand making him sigh out in relief of sorts.

His hand held hers firmly but gently while is other held onto her waist, his fingertips tingling and a shiver sensation sending down his spine as her hand cupped the space between his neck and shoulder. His eyes fluttered before he looked back down at her eagerly awaiting one’s before realising he wasn’t yet moving, they were just holding each other.

A smirk tugged at his lips, his usual confidence returning when he realised how she clung to him just as much as he did her.

He lead her movements to the slow song, his hand hand squeezing her hip gently as his mind engraved the memory of her curves under his skin. He pulled her body closer to his as his feet moved to the rhythm of the music, hers quickly following his lead making him smile.

He appreciated how she completely ignored the eyes of her friends burning into both their heads.

His face neared hers, his cheek pressing to the side of her head as he breathed in the scent of her hair with a soft sigh. He felt like waves of warmth were flowing over him just at the skin on skin contact with her.

Finally embracing the girl he has been craving for months on end was euphoric. His lips gently pressed to her temple as a small smile pulled at his lips.

“You’re so gorgeous” he whispered to her. He listened as her heartbeat sped slightly at his words and he felt her body get closer to his.

It were as though they were the only two stars in the sky as he twirled her in his hold. Her smile lit up the room as a she let out a soft laugh as she spun back to his chest and he lifted her off her feet as he swirled around.

Both his arms circled her waist and she hung off his neck, her fingers playing with the baby hairs at the back of his head.

Her eyes sparkled under the soft glow of the lights above and he found himself lost in them, drowning in everything that was her.

His face neared hers as his head tilted down so their noses brushed against each others briefly. Y/n could feel his warm breath against her lips as they remained close but not close enough.

She could feel her heart in her throat as he squeezed her hips.

Y/n wasn’t foolish. She knew Klaus had been infatuated with her, obsessed and determined to have her. Thankfully for him, she wasn’t terrified or worried. Perhaps it was because she was already used to watching Damon and Stefan behave like mongrels after Elena and she assumed that it must be common within vampires and their heightened emotions to fixate on one that made them feel good. That or she just couldn’t find it in her to fear him.

Not when his touch was this tender, not with his perfect, full lips just above hers. She couldn’t help but watch them, the way his tongue wetted them sensually almost caused a whimper to erupt from her but her teeth clamped down on her own bottom lip to prevent the embarrassing sound.

Klaus noticed her holding it back of course, and he couldn’t have that.

His hands on her waist made the daring move to slide a little lower, both giving a light squeeze to her behind making the desired noise to leave her now open mouth. Klaus couldn’t have cared less that they were in a room full of people as he gave a firmer squeeze to her soft, round arse. The moan she let escape her throat was music to his ears and he only wished she would wrap her legs around his waist and have him carry her to his chambers. But he held that thought back.

“You’re perfect…” he whispered “…so lovely”

His lips ever so lightly touched hers, not enough to count as a kiss but god did it stir something inside them both.

“You may never understand the lengths to which I love you” he uttered before letting his eyes close and his mouth to press to hers with a little more force.

It was a small kiss, delicate and sweet just like her but it granted him a moment in heaven, a second of bliss.

Both of them continued to sway together, lips just out of reach from the others.

Many declarations of affections were awarded to her throughout the evening. He got to feel her soft kisses with each loving whisper he gave.

And as the people filtered out of the building, so did Klaus and Y/n.

And with one last kiss, one last promise of a forever, they separated. Ear-to-ear smiled on both their faces as they took glances back at each other until they were out of sight but even then, Y/n knew he was somewhere watching her get home safely and thinking she didn’t know.

And she let him believe that as she went home and lay in bed with him on her mind.

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lis-likes-fics · 2 months

Text

All the Things I Hate About You

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader Word Count: 11.5k words Warnings: Swearing, torture, violence, kidnapping, enemies to lovers... A/N: This was actually really fun to write. I forgot I had this idea for months until I was looking through my wips and saw the planning completely finished. Anyway, here it is and I hope you enjoy!

The bar is quite busy tonight. It's full of patrons talking and laughing and carrying on in classic New Orleans style. Nights like these are always nice, especially when it's between you and Klaus, this time with the added company of Marcel, as you bring the lip of your bourbon to your own, smiling around the glass.

You chuckle into the cup at one of Klaus’ quips, raising a finger at him and wiping your bottom lip. You're about to speak when your attention diverts to the door at the sound of a ringing bell.

Your face falls.

“Goddamn it,” you mutter, putting your hand down and wrapping it around your glass again.

Looking toward the source of your new frustration, Klaus can't help his chuckle. “Now, now, dove,” he bids, swirling the contents of his glass. “Do not let his intrusion sour your mood. I'm sure he has a good reason for being here. Don't you, big brother?”

You all look at the man in question as Elijah places his hand on the back of his brother's chair. He disregards you altogether, and somehow that's more frustrating than him showing up in the first place.

“Niklaus, we need to talk,” he says, turning his head toward him with a clenched jaw.

You whine, leaning forward and letting your head fall to the table with a dull thump. “But the night was just getting good.” Marcel laughs at you.

Amused, Klaus raises a brow. “About?”

Elijah finally spares you a sliver of attention as his eyes dart toward you, narrowed to slits. “Privately,” he insists.

Klaus rolls his eyes, uninterested and ready to shift his attention back to you. “We can talk about the eternal crisis of my soul’s redemption another day, Elijah. For now,” he looks at you, smirking devilishly, “we were just headed to this cute little place around the corner for a bite.”

You aren't a vampire, but you've never had an issue with encouraging his less-than-innocent activities. In fact, through the course of your friendship, Klaus has found that you enjoy indulging in vampiric lifestyles. He found that you lack a certain morality most humans tend to hold when it comes to the supernatural. It's one of his favorite things about you—you're not obsessed with saving his immortal soul.

But Elijah does not sympathize.

“I'm sure you've had plenty of ‘bites’ today,” he says, shooting you a glare.

Preening under his attention—however negative it may be—you continue. “Yeah, well, bite me. You're ruining the fun.”

His gaze unwavering, Elijah continues to glare. “Oh, I just might.”

You scoff, turning your body more towards him. “I'm not afraid of you.”

He's so used to being feared, but you've never feared him for a moment—it's another one of those things he hates about you.

He takes a step closer to you, and you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. You don't falter, even as he speaks. “I don't need you to be afraid in order to be lethal, sweetling.”

It's very derogative, the way he says it. All of his pet names toward you are. You're sure he thinks you hate it, but—of all his insults—it's one of your favorites.

Marcel and Klaus watch on, enjoying the scene as much as you as the both of you stare the other down. Your gazes are unwavering, a game of dominance which you have a clear disadvantage in—though that's never stopped you before.

“Uh-oh,” Marcel grins, bringing his glass to his lips. He chuckles as he glances at Klaus, who does the same. “It's gonna be a cat fight.”

But when nothing happens, and you continue to stare, Klaus sighs as he lounges in his chair. “What is it that cannot wait, brother?”

It takes a moment for him to finally respond, to tear his eyes away from you and look back at his little brother. “Supernatural business,” he says plainly.

“You mean supernatural drama,” Marcel corrects. “Spill.”

Raising a brow, Elijah's eyes, one again, fall back to you—as though he couldn't resist looking away for more than a moment. “You could probably ‘spill’ yourself, couldn't you?”

You sigh. “To be honest,” you stretch and turn back to your drink, “I'm just trying to get drunk, and your presence is unnervingly sobering.” You take a sip, your eyes still watching him as you do.

Taking every opportunity to spite you, he hums. “Good.”

Marcel refocuses. “What kind of drama?”

Again, Elijah turns away. “The kind that includes a vampire dead in the Quarter.”

You lift your chin, remembering as your lips form an “oh” and you return to your drink.

Marcel, ever annoyed by Mikaelson and Co. mischief, turns to you and Klaus with an immense amount of exhaustion. “You killed one of my guys?”

You raise your hands. “To be completely fair, he was just a tourist.”

“To be completely fair,” Elijah echoes, “he was visiting family, a group of residents here. Now they are threatening to break the peace.”

“That is…quite unfortunate,” Klaus sighs. He stands then, patting Elijah back in a chummy way. “However, I don't know how much I care. This place was becoming rather tedious anyway.”

Elijah is exhausted by all of this. “And I'm sure the same can be said for your human companion.”

You raise your hands in defense. “Don't look at me! He catcalled me, all I did was punch him really hard in the face.”

Klaus nods. “Yes, and I was the one to gut him and string up his corpse in a tree like a Christmas ornament.”

“Before I suggested that we leave him someplace not so out in the open,” you nod, “because humans tend to panic.”

Elijah clenches his jaw. “Of course.”

There are many reasons Elijah doesn't like you.

For one, you seem to have no care or respect for other people's lives. You're just as bad as Niklaus, you may as well be slaughtering these people yourself.

Your encouragement in his brother's misdeeds, entirely contrary to Elijah's attempts at helping his brother, are so frustrating. It makes his job a lot harder when he's got this other voice in his head telling him that it's okay to snap his neck, as long as you put some nice beads and sunglasses on him so he looks cool.

Then there's your sass. You always have some sly comeback, another thing to add to conversation that doesn't need to be contributed.

If it didn't stop there, your eyes. You're always looking at him, always challenging him. You stare him down, your gaze unwavering. You watch his every move just to find something to pick apart.

And you're never scared of him. Never. You have no problem with talking back to this man. He could kill you in a moment, and you could do nothing to stop him. But you don't even consider that possibility, you're too busy being–

“Okay, I'm calling it a night,” Marcel stands, pulling Elijah from his obsessive thoughts. “I've got business to take care of. Thank you for that.” He says the last part to you and Klaus, dipping his head as a goodbye as he leaves. He pauses by Elijah, not meaning his words but—fuck, he's tired. “Couldn't have waited a few more hours?”

You groan, looking up at Klaus. “We don't have to go, do we?”

Klaus shrugs. “So long as you don't get hurt, I don't see why we should.”

You stand, taking one last sip from your drink as you smile. “Great.” You link arms with Klaus, patting Elijah's chest, even as he rolls his eyes. “Buh-bye now.”

Elijah turns as the two of you are leaving, his firm voice stopping the both of you as he continues to glare. “Niklaus,” he says. “We need to talk.”

Klaus lets go of your arm and walks back toward his brother. “You need a drink, my friend,” he suggests. He puts an arm on his shoulders and points toward a woman at the bar. She's sitting on her own, a finger tracing the lip of her glass. “I'm sure that lovely lady there would certainly be happy to help you.”

He pats his chest, smiling slyly. “Cheers.”

Klaus takes your arm again, and you wiggle your fingers in goodbye at Elijah. He huffs gently, shaking his head and deciding he may actually need a drink.

“Niklaus!”

You groan, laying your head on the table as Elijah's graining voice reverberates through the courtyard. You lay a hand over your head trying to ease the pain throbbing in the back of your skull.

“Could you be any louder?” you grumble, the pain too great to add the malice you intend.

Elijah comes to a stop, not bothering to look at you as his eyes scan the mezzanine. “It's your own fault,” he mutters.

“How charming,” you sigh. He's the brother meant to have manners. You lean your head up to look at him through the dark lenses of your glasses.

“Where is Niklaus?” he questions, finally looking down at you.

You shrug, massaging your temples to ease your migraine. “Probably eating some wayward college girls to spite you.”

He hums, fixing the collar of his sleeve. “Oh, are some of your friends in town?”

Despite the pain in your skull, you laugh, looking up at him. “I like this narrative in your head that the bad influence in this relationship is the helpless mortal rather than the immortal big bad wolf who is literally known for murder and mayhem.” You smile, giggling lightly. “It makes me sound like a mastermind.”

He looks toward you. “The only mastery you've achieved is in ruthless schemes against my sanity.”

“Oh,” you nod. “All good things then.”

Rather than answer you, he yells. “Niklaus!”

You're abusing your temples at this point as you try to ease the pain. “Fuck you,” you spit, resting your head down again.

He smirks. “I'm sure you would love to. Fortunately, I have more interesting things to take care of.”

You hum, your voice muffled by the table. “Dunno what your problem is.”

He's growing impatient at Klaus’ tardiness to his calls, but it seems eased at the prospect of taunting you. “I've got only a handful of issues, and your name is plastered all over 98% of them. Ni-klaus!”

There are many reasons you don't like Elijah.

For one, he always seems to show up when you don't need him to. He's a buzz kill, a sour puss, and a pain in the ass.

And, for an Original, he seems to have a strange distaste for havoc. All you ever really wanted to do was have fun, and he never seemed to sympathize.

You grew up in this city, fully aware of the fact that it was crawling with the supernatural. You grew with it, and you grew into it, and now you hold ideals more aligned with that of the vampires of the Quarter, rather than the humans of the city, desensitized from death and pain and sorrow and indulging instead in the highs and adrenaline rushes of being freed from such moralities. You've never had an issue with that.

But for a woman who'd grown in the heart of the city he loved, Elijah seemed to hate your guts.

If that wasn't enough, his penchant for immaculacy drove you mad, there was no reason to find that much stress in being a little disorganized. Hell, your whole life was practically a disorganized mess, but he doesn't see you spiraling.

And his fucking face disgusted you. The way he watched you, so closely, tracking every movement. His eyes hardly left you, and when they did, it was simply to show you how little you were to him. But you just kept staring. He wanted you to be afraid of him, but you aren't. And you'll never be.

You want him to know that. You know it ticks him off.

Klaus comes to your rescue, but not without an infliction of his own as he arrives at the mezzanine. “Alright! Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm here.” He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes as he looks down at the both of you in the courtyard. “Now what are you so insistent on telling me?”

Elijah squares his jaw. “Walk with me.”

Klaus groans. “Must we?”

True to his fashion, rather than answer, Elijah simply turns and begins walking. As he disappears, you lift your head, pushing your sunglasses further up your nose. “Good luck with that one,” you mumble, pointing in Elijah's direction. You look after him as Klaus descends the steps. “He's especially pissy.”

Klaus comes next to you, pushing some hair behind your ear. “Do you have something to do with that?”

You smile a bit. “Don't I always?”

Klaus laughs, tapping the tip of your nose with his finger and laughing some more when you wipe it. He fishes a little bottle of Tylenol from his pocket and sets it in front of you as he makes his way toward the front, leaving you to your misery as you rest your head back down on the table.

You snatch the bottle, clutching it like golden treasure.

Your migraine is gone by the time they return. You've still got your sunglasses on the bridge of your nose, but it's more for fashion than it is comfort now. Your music is practically blasting through the courtyard, and the brothers walk in to see you dancing to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys.

Why? Why not?

“Oh,” Elijah sighs, raising a brow and glancing away. “It dances.”

You turn, taking off the sunglasses and pausing your music. You point at him with the pair, “Aren't you supposed to be a feminist or something?”

Klaus laughs at your antics and simply brushes past you. You wave tauntingly at Elijah and follow Klaus up the steps as you both leave him by his lonesome.

“So what did you talk about?” you ask once he's out of sight. You weave your hand through his arm and smile up at him. “Was it little ole me?” You shoot him a charming grin.

He chuckles, “As always.”

He shrugs, continuing down the hall with you happily on his arm. You and Klaus have been joined at the hip since you met just a little after he moved back to the city. He's your best friend, as you are his. You adore this man, though many try to warn you of his danger.

But you like the danger. You practically live and breathe the supernatural. Whether you should be afraid or not, you aren't. It's in your veins as though you were one of them already.

“What about?” you hum.

“You and your terrible influence.” He turns into Hope's room, pushing the door open and walking further inside as he looks around.

“I'm just cool like that,” you say. Glancing around, you furrow your brow. “What are you doing?”

“Hayley called,” he says simply. He turns over a blanket to look underneath it. “Apparently she forgot one of Hope's favorite toys when she was last here. She refuses to take her nap without it, needs me to retrieve it for her.”

You walk toward the bed, picking up a powder pink pillow and seeing the little pastel blue bunny underneath it, its floppy ears lazy at the sides of its head.

“Isn't this it?”

You show it off to him, wiggling it to make its arms flop around. Klaus nods, taking the offered creature. “That, it is.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice to a whisper to avoid Elijah's prying ears. “Why don't you come with me, and we can ditch the police downstairs.”

You smile wide, whispering back at him. “I thought you'd never ask.”

He offers his hand. You take it.

The both of you take one of the many “secret” exits of the building, ditching Elijah in the courtyard to go have some real fun. He takes you to one of the back entrances, where it’s a little darker and you’re surrounded by brick. Klaus opens the gate and steps onto the street, and as you go behind him to cross the threshold–

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

You furrow your brow at the resistance that meets the toe of your shoe. Raising a hand, you reach forward…

“Klaus, I can't get out,” you say as you press it against air, and you press hard. But to no avail…

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You make a face ‘What do you think I mean?’ You slap your hand against the force again, and nothing. “There's something keeping me from leaving.”

Hoping your teasing, he reaches for your hand and is immediately stopped from doing so. “What the hell?” he mutters.

“You think it's trouble?”

Klaus sighs, exhaustion slipping into his tone. “When isn't it?”

A gush of air whips behind you and suddenly Elijah is at your side, facing his brother. “We're sealed in.”

You roll your eyes, “We kind of figured that out already.”

He furrows his brows at Klaus, raising a hand to the barrier. “You're not trapped?” he questions.

Klaus raises his hands and lets them drop at his sides. “As it seems.”

“Shit,” you whisper. You shake your head, turning to face both of them as you sink into your “something-is-wrong-how-do-we-fix-it” mode, well-versed in the world of Mikaelson drama by this point. “What do we do?”

Klaus retrieves his phone from his back pocket. “I'll figure something out. You stay here.” He turns to leave. You roll your eyes at his back.

“Don't have much of a choice.”

“Try not to kill each other before I get back,” he says as he leaves.

You groan, leaning against the barrier dramatically. “Don't leave me here!” He ignores you.

You sigh, grumbling as you turn to face Elijah. “Wonderful.”

“I'm not exactly thrilled myself.”

You turn to leave him, walking away back toward the courtyard where the stairs are. Elijah follows you, walking behind.

And as you reach the stairs, still he walks behind.

“You're following me,” you point out, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“I'm not following you.”

You pick up the pace up the stairs. “Yes, you are.” It's almost fun, the senseless bickering. Like children. If only it were that simple…

“We are going in the same direction,” he states, rolling his eyes when you keep looking over your shoulder at the top of the stairs.

“Go away!” you exclaim, disappearing into Klaus’ room. He continues walking, grumbling to himself as he carries on to his own.

Closing the door behind you, you're almost disappointed. But you remember that you don't like him. You aren't friends. He isn't going to humor you, and you won't humor him either.

You plop down on the bed, laying back with your arms sprawled out like a bird. You stare at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do trapped in the compound with naught to do but stare at the ceiling.

And you're bored.

You pull your phone out and tap on it, humming to yourself as you do. But that can only sustain you for so long. And you're right. Because it has been exactly five minutes since you closed Klaus’ door, and now you're standing in Elijah's doorway with your arms crossed over your chest.

He doesn't acknowledge you. He's perfectly content to sit there reading, paying you absolutely no mind.

But you can't have that.

“I'm bored.”

He hums, his finger tapping the top corner of his book. “Go do something.”

“I can't, wise guy,” you roll your eyes. You take a step farther into his room. “We're trapped here.”

He doesn't seem to care. “I'm occupied.”

For a moment, you wonder why he's so calm. If you're trapped in the compound, that means there's a witch involved. And if there's a witch involved, that likely means there's another dangerous issue that needs to be solved before someone gets hurt.

But then you remember. He's an Original. If there's an issue, let it come. It won't hurt him.

You look along the shelves in his room, lined with books and belongings. “I'm not,” you hum.

He rolls his eyes and sets his book down. “Why are you here?”

You shrug. You're bored, and you like messing with him. And that's what you tell him: “Because I'm bored, and I like messing with you.”

“You can't stand not being within my presence, is it?”

“Ew, gross!” you exclaim, feeling slightly giddy before you remember that you aren't friends and you, in fact, hate him as he does, you.

To distract yourself from the fondness in your chest, you take a small book off the shelf and toss it at him. He catches it with ease and sets it on the table next to him. Wordlessly, he shoots you a glare to tell you to stop. But you've finally been entertained.

To be fair, this was childish and unnecessary and you really shouldn't have done it. But you're stupid around Elijah, and you're childish and unnecessary because he entertains you and makes you upset and drives you crazy.

So you keep throwing things at him. First, another book. Then one of the expensive and, likely, old knick-knacks on his shelf. Then whatever goes in your hand because he keeps catching them like it's nothing.

“Leave me alone,” he says, his voice firm and final. But you don't listen to him. You never listen to him.

“I'm bored,” you tell him, bracing another book in your hands. If you knew he wouldn't catch it, you wouldn't throw it. “Do something funny.”

You toss it, he catches it. Like clockwork. “I am not here to occupy you. I am here because I have no other choice, as we are trapped. You said to go away. I left. And now you are here tormenting me.”

He's fed up, and you know he is. And it only excites you more. That means he'll react, he'll pay attention to you. He'll look at you. And you can look at him. You love the way he looks when he's frustrated.

“I am here to torment you,” you shrug. “Did you want another book, by the way? I think you might enjoy this one.”

You toss it. Like clockwork. “Stop.”

You should stop. A figurine leaves your hand.

“Stop,” harsher this time. “I will not tell you again.”

You smirk. “Do something about it.” The challenge leaves your lips just as the last book does.

He catches it, and then suddenly you're being pushed up against the wall, your wrists pinned at either side of your head in a tight grip that makes your fingers tingle. You wince as your head hits the brick, not hard enough to really hurt you but hard enough to sting as you bare your teeth.

Your eyes go wide as your gaze locks with his. He's furious, face inches from yours and eyes full of frustration.

For the very first time, you're afraid of Elijah Mikaelson.

“You are behaving like a child.” His voice is low and dangerous, his eyes are dark as they bore into your own, unflinching. But you flinch. Each little syllabus he stresses has you squinting your eyes and wanting to shrink away from him.

You truly understand now how someone like him can inspire so much fear in others.

“If you continue this nonsense, I assure you…” he leans even closer, his words caressing your face in a terrifying way, “I will put an end to it as quickly as it started.” You close your eyes and turn your face slightly away from him as you feel each letter in his words spell out on your cheek. “Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

Silence. Silence fills the air.

The only exception to the quiet suspense lingering in the space between the both of you are his steady breaths and your quivering ones. As you open your eyes and look at him again, you feel like he's stolen the air in the room and the adrenaline pumping through your veins is not out of the excitement of action, but the fear of actually being hurt.

Because he may actually intend on hurting you.

You definitely feel it in the tips of your fingers, going numb with his tightened grip. You feel it in the sting of the back of your skull after it met the brick of his bedroom wall. You feel it in the scrape of your skin against said brick. And as he's met with silence from you, you feel it in the clutch of his hands around your wrist, his thumb pressing into your pulse and forcing your fingers to curl.

You whimper. You actually whimper—a soft and nearly silent little slip of sound from your lips as you force them to part and whisper meekly to him.

“You're hurting me.”

The fog of frustration lifts from his eyes and he immediately seems to come to his senses. In the next second, he's let you go and take several steps away from you. His eyes are a tad bit wider, and his lips are parted.

He hadn't realized he was actually hurting you.

You wince, holding your wrists as you massage them. Elijah notices the way you actually sink into yourself, trying to play it down but so easy to read in his eyes, eyes that watch you at every point he gets.

“Ow,” you whisper. “Jesus.”

Your wrists really hurt. They'll probably bruise. You reach a hand to the back of your head, wincing once again when your fingers brush the tiny bump that may form there, but feel relieved when there is no blood.

You sigh, glancing up at him and taking a couple small steps back. You think you may be standing too close, even still.

Elijah watches you, swallowing thickly. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you.

“I need a drink,” you mumble without the implied, ‘away from you’. Then you roll your eyes, “Oh, wait.”

You hate the feeling being pumped through your system right now. Fear. Fear or Elijah Mikaelson. A man you've never feared in your life. Even for a moment. Suddenly, you're terrified.

Because he may actually hurt you.

Elijah licks his bottom lip and looks down at his shoes. He takes a step back, and then makes a slow and straight path to a cupboard in his bedroom. He opens it, and pulls out a bottle of bourbon he kept hidden away there. In silence he pours two glasses and leaves yours on the edge of the table for you.

Tentatively, you take it.

It takes a moment for the word to form, afraid to vex him again, “...Thanks.”

He hums and says nothing else.

There's another long silence. You bring the glass to your lips and take a generous gulp, letting the alcohol burn down your throat and warm your chest. Elijah does the same.

He holds his glass in his hands, and for a moment you think he looks almost...shy.

He taps his glass, the sound filling the air between you. Without looking up at you, he takes in a gentle breath and speaks.

“Forgive me.”

You look at him. He meets your gaze slowly, making no attempt to step closer but offering all his sincerity. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

You scoff lightly. “Your threat said otherwise.”

It's your own fault. You were being unnecessary, you were being stupid…

His voice, though firmer, doesn't betray the softness he'd utilized in his apology before. This is the gentlest you've ever experienced Elijah.

“I would not have hurt you to make you stop.”

“Wouldn't you?” you challenge lightly. You're afraid to provoke him some more.

But his reply is still just as firm. “No.” There's a gravity in his words that you don't have the capacity to dissect right now. “I would not.”

More silence. Longer silence.

You stare at him, taking in the sight of his face, which grows softer and softer as time goes on. Your fear slowly dwindles but it's still there, seemingly ever-present. You should apologize.

“You just…” you look down at the floor, “You just don't seem the type to feel bad about hurting me. You don't seem to like me very much.”

You don't want to sound as pathetic as you feel. Especially at the “don't seem to like me”. It feels so…childish, small, insignificant. You don't like me.

He shrugs, speaks matter-of-factly. “I don't. But I do not hate you, either.”

You scoff again, shaking your head lightly. You don't understand him…

Elijah sighs, moving slowly to take a seat again. He sits at the edge of his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and he cradles his glass in his hands. “As much as your penchant for wreaking havoc with my brother frustrates me… You do remain his friend.” And he doesn't have many of those.

You chuckle, shaking your head, feeling the conflicts of your emotions and turning it to disdain to make it easier on you.

“Is that why you keep me around?”

“What?”

“You want your baby brother to have a bestie?” You bring the cup to your lips but do not drink yet. “Otherwise I'd have already been dead in an alleyway or something?” You take a sip then, to hide the hurt you feel.

He shakes his head, staring at the contents of his cup. “You say that like I've always hated you.”

You raise a brow. “Haven't you?” You don't understand him.

He actually smiles, shaking his head. “You're so stubborn, aren't you?”

Without missing a beat, “It's my best quality.” You don't reciprocate his smile. As he watches you, his slowly fades anyway.

He looks down at your hands. They're shaking slightly. “You're hurt,” he frowns. “Let me help you.”

You take a step back, “I don't need your help.”

“Please.” He sounds small, non-confrontational. He doesn't sound like him, he sounds almost weak—almost like you.

You think about it, and then you take a breath of courage and relent. “No blood, though,” you mumble, trying to sound light-hearted and failing. You're still a bit shaken.

“God forbid you were healed,” he mumbles as he stands and makes your trade places with him as he sits you with the gentlest touches in his chair. He crouches in front of you and takes your hands in his own, frowning in an almost pained way at the cuts and scrapes that litter the lengths of your forearms. He did this.

Elijah stands, disappears, and reappears with a first-aid kit in his hands. He kneels in front of you once more, taking your hands and covering your skin in ointment and wrapping your wrists carefully with deft fingers.

Almost like he cares about you.

A warm feeling swells in your chest, but you stifle it before it can get too familiar, too comfortable. You take your hands back, holding your wrists gently as you rub your fingers over the bandages. You try not to be sentimental.

“Thanks,” you whisper, hating how weak you sound. You clear your throat and stand. He stands with you, moving slowly so as not to scare you. He doesn't want you to be afraid of him. You are never afraid of him.

“Sorry…” you clear your throat, “about the…throwing things. I overdid it.” You can't look him in the eyes. “It was childish—I'm childish, and I'm sorry.”

“Careful,” the slightest smirk teases his lips. “Someone may think we were actually friends.”

Friends.

“God forbid,” you joke weakly.

As has become natural…there is silence. You're not used to so much silence with him. It's usually filled with petty insults and shallow jabs at the others shortcomings.

You look up at him, into his eyes. It's easier to see him a little more clearly in the silence. You can take in more information, like the depths of his eyes, the gleam of them, the richness of his brown irises…

“I'm gonna…” you break the silence as gently as you can, “go keep myself busy.”

He doesn't stop you. He doesn't salvage the strange, silent truce with a sly remark, he doesn't scoff or roll his eyes or walk away. He takes a step to the side and allows you to pass, watching you leave with tentative steps as you stare at the floor to keep from looking back at him. You don't understand him. He doesn't understand you. But you think that maybe, in this silent moment, you understand each other more than you ever have since the moment you first met.

You leave his room. He stands there, watching the open door, unblinking but thinking a million thoughts. He hears your gentle steps descend the stairs. Elijah sits back down, looking at your glasses, both still half-full and forgotten. He sighs. He's stupid.

He hears you downstairs. The soft steps of your shoes against the floor, the scoot of a chair.

He'd never meant to hurt you. As much as he threatens, as much as he remarks, he'd never lay a finger on you with the actual intent of hurting you.

He sighs, turning to take the books you'd thrown in his hands to set back on the shelf. He thinks as he arranges them into their original order. He thinks as he places his knick-knacks in their rightful positions.

He listens to your heart beat, a steady rhythm in the back of his mind. A few moments pass, and there is complete stillness in the compound.

But just as quickly as it settled, it was disrupted once more.

He hears your heart pick up, a fast and unsteady beat against your ribcage that all too suddenly disappears.

It only takes a moment to check every room in the compound. It takes only one other to check them all twice.

But you're gone.

His phone is in his hand and ringing in no time. He paces, unsettled as he bids his brother to answer quickly.

The dial tone ends. Klaus’ voice comes through, “I've just got the little witch. I'm sure being alone with her isn't as excruciating as you claim, broth–”

“Niklaus. She's gone.”

A pause. “What do you mean ‘she's gone’?” His voice is low, menacing. He's ready to draw blood.

“Her heartbeat raced, and then it disappeared.” He looks around again, in case he missed something the first two times. He hates to say that he feels like he may begin panicking. “She isn't in the compound, and I am still trapped.”

He knows. He checked. Three times.

“We're coming.”

He hangs up. Elijah lets his hand drop to his side, running the other through his hair and sighing. He closes his eyes, takes a breath.

It'll be fine.

There's a terrible pain at the base of your skull, and you wince when you become conscious enough to feel the pounding of it. Your neck is sore, but it's held back by something rather than left to hang freely. Duct tape, wrapped tightly around your throat.

Your fingers tingle with a numbing sensation spreading up to your wrist. Your hands are tied down to a chair, your ankles are restrained to the legs, and your back is sore from the very uncomfortable position you've been put in. The sticky adhesive hurts your skin.

You're not going anywhere.

You blink quickly as you open your eyes, a bright light flashing in your face and blinding. It's hot and humid, each breath you take is thick and sluggish. You look around, taking in your surroundings to try and see if you know where you are.

The walls are rundown with mold and cracks. The floorboards are weak and creaky. The light directed into your face is your only source of light. The sun has set, and it's a new moon tonight.

A groan slips through your lips before you can stop it.

“She's awake,” a voice announces. A woman.

The floorboards groan under the weight of someone's steps. You look up (as if you have much of a choice), your eyes still adjusting, especially with the pain becoming background noise in your mind.

“I heard.” A man, whose voice isn't particularly strong. After spending so much time with the Originals, you're sure to know the difference.

You'll be fine.

You watch him take his phone from his back pocket, holding up to your face. The flash goes off, and you wince as the tiny click of his phone sounds.

You groan, thinking quickly as you take in a breath. “Wait,” you say. “You didn't get my good side. You gotta do it again.”

Your voice is thick with exhaustion and dehydration, but it doesn't deter you. Just because you're the one in restraints doesn't mean you're the weak one here.

He bends down, moving his face into the light. He doesn't look very intimidating, though he tries to be. In fact, he looks terrible—tired and upset.

“So you're the little human Klaus keeps around?” he hums. His lip curls slightly into a scowl, and he shakes his head. “You don't look like much.”

You smile, shrugging as best you can. “I don't need to.” You tilt your head, “I have an endless supply of charm to work with.”

“That's funny,” he says humorlessly. He turns to the woman sitting in the corner. “She's funny.”

You assume she's a witch. After the incident at the compound and now the apparent kidnapping, that assumption isn't too far off.

You nod. “I'm hilarious.”

“All the time?” he wonders.

“24/7.”

He makes a face, one to say he disagrees. He stands straight up again, walking around your chair. His knuckles rap against the back of it, and you roll your eyes. His tactics are amateur. Even the witch is bored, because she stands up and leaves.

“I personally don't think so.”

You furrow your brows, mocking sorrow. “Really? Why not? Wait,” you think for a moment. “I don't care.”

His hands fall on your shoulder, and you scowl. He's actually touching you. That's disgusting. If you could bite his hand or something, you would. But that currently isn't an option.

“There was one joke that wasn't very funny,” he says, bending down once more so you can see him.

“I always love feedback on my work. How'd it go?”

He smiles, but it's a sour thing on his face. “It went up in a tree, gutted like a fish and hanged. Like he was nothing.” Realization hits you. “You got my brother killed.”

So that's why you're here.

“Is that what this is about?” You shake your head, raising an uninterested brow. “Look, bud, all I did was punch him. Klaus killed him.”

He shrugs, “You definitely didn't stop him.” His words drip with a pain you can no longer empathize with.

“I didn't, no,” you tell him plainly, “because I didn't care and your brother was a jerk—and also Klaus is freakishly strong and I don't stand a chance.”

He's losing his patience. Now he's just pissed, and he's losing his power—what little he had to begin with anyway.

“Being a jerk isn't a fair enough reason to be slaughtered like that,” he argues. “Otherwise you'd already be dead.”

“So you're not going to kill me?” you ask. “Oh, that's a relief. I have a massage tomorrow at two. My shoulders have been killing me.”

“I think tense shoulders are the least of your worries right now.”

“I'm getting mixed signals here. Am I in danger or–”

“Shut up!” His hand wraps around your throat, tighter than the tape he has secured there as he pushes you up against the chair.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, but it's well hidden as you watch him straight on. He's on the verge, you can tell. He might snap at any moment and it likely won't end well for you.

“You never stop talking, do you?” His voice is low and rough, his breath is thick with rage. “I don't know how anyone puts up with you and your constant blabbing, it's honestly pathetic.”

Your breath is thin but you won't let him have the last word. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you strain against his grip. “Nothing you say is really going to get under my skin. I've probably said it already.”

He leans in closer. You can feel his warm breath on your face, and you'd squirm if it wouldn't empower him. “You're a child.”

“I know. It keeps me young.”

He lets go of you, and before you can think of something else to say, the back of his hands smacks against your cheek. You grunt, your face whipping to the side as the tape cuts into your skin. It stings. He's very strong, and it shows in the dark stain arising in your cheek. You think his daylight ring clipped you because it really stings, and you think he may have drawn blood.

Your suspicions are validated when you see the veins in his eyes wriggling under his skin, his eyes darkening with the scent of your blood.

“Ah, shit!” you gasp, wanting to soothe the spot but being unable to. It really hurts. But you can't let him have the satisfaction. “I mean,” you catch your breath, “harder, Daddy.” You shake your head, wincing harshly. “God, that hurt, actually.”

He gets real close to your face again, but the pain of his smack makes it harder to show indifference. But it's not without trying. “You killed my brother,” he spits. “I'm going to hurt you really bad. And then…” he smiles, “I am going to kill you.”

Your breath is uneven, riled up with the anxiety of maybe not having the upper hand. If there's a witch, it means you're likely cloaked. The compound may still be sealed, so Elijah is still trapped—not that he would save you if he wasn't. Klaus, with all his power, may not be able to find you.

You might not get out of this alive.

Nevertheless. “You really shouldn't start with your big threat.” He turns away from you, annoyed. “There's no way to go from there.”

“I'm going to beat the shit out of you.

“See?” you ask, getting a little desperate now. Maybe you can distract him? “You already threatened my life. Anything else you say is significantly less impactful.”

“Shut up!” he shouts.

A gleam shines off a knife he pulls from his back pocket. Your eyes go wide with panic, and you try to react but there's nothing you can do. He raises it high, and in the next second, he's stabbed it into the meat of your thigh.

A scream tears from your throat. It's loud and rough and brings tears to your eyes as the pain rips through you like a fire. Your hands flex towards it, trying to soothe it in some way—any way—but to no avail.

He sneers, a dark chuckle leaving his throat. You watch his face change, his vampiric features creeping through again. “That's better.”

He pulls his phone out and snaps another picture. a wicked grin sneaks onto his face.

You're in full panic mode. You can't even attempt to be funny anymore, you've begin genuinely freaking out because there's a fucking knife in your leg.

“Okay, I'm sorry,” the words leave your mouth at the speed of light. “I'm sorry. I fucked up. I shouldn't have let Klaus do it. Granted, I can't really stop him when he's got murder on his mind, but I should have tried, and I didn't, and that's on me. I'm sorry. No, no, no, no, I'm sorr–!”

Another painful shout rips through you as he tears the knife from your leg. It bleeds, and it bleeds bad. Tears have begun pooling in your eyes, and dropping down your face and off your chin. Your screams stutter with sobs, and you gasp but there's too much air in your lungs to actually inhale each breath. The tape around your neck chokes you.

More flashes, more pictures

“You can scream as loud as you like, sweetheart. Your precious Mikaelsons are trapped in their house, and we're cloaked. No one's gonna find us until I'm done.”

Mikaelsons. Not Mikaelson. He thinks Klaus is trapped. If you can stall just long enough…

But your hope is running out and the blood is pooling. It's hard to think past the pain.

Klaus will save me. He always saves me.

This guy hates you and your jokes. He wants nothing more than to shut you up for good, but he isn't going to kill you unless he's broken you. He isn't going to take your life until your jokes have run dry and there's no more fun in stripping you of your depleted humor. If you want to live a little longer, you've got to keep them locked and loaded.

You just don't know how long you'll last.

“Well,” you stutter, whispering a confidence you don't have, “if I'm truly fucked, I guess I'm gonna have to use the rest of my good jokes on you.”

His hands wrap around your throat again. He squeezes, and your head feels hot and heavy. Every inch of your face tingles in a terrible way. Your lungs burn as the pressure builds. You flex your hands, you pull at the layers and layers of tape, you try to do something to get you out of here.

He watched you struggle, crude fingers digging into your pulse points. He watches the fight diminish to a dull scrape of your chair against the floor. When you begin to go limp and the life sinks from your eyes, he lets go.

You've never taken a deeper breath in your life.

Click.

A fit of coughs forces its way from your throat. It feels so good to breathe, a dull euphoria buzzing in the back of your brain against the horrible pain of your leg, but—fuck—you can't do it.

“Try speaking through that,” he huffs, satisfied with his method.

For a moment, you think, Maybe… Maybe I should just let him kill me and get it over with.

But Klaus would never forgive you, and if Elijah hadn't hated you before, he surely would then.

For the boys. Not for you. I'm doing this for the boys.

“C-Come clo–” You cough, the hoarseness of your throat too much to be coherent. “Closer.”

He relent, leaning down as his hands brace himself on your arms. It hurts as he transfers most of his weight on them, but you try not to wince.

“That was…” you take in a terrible breath, your voice is a squeak, “really hot.”

Apparently, he doesn't like your jokes.

Snatching up the tape, he presses it against your mouth in generous amounts to ensure not a single word comes out of you.

He picks up the knife, flipping it in his hands as he examines you. You pull weakly against your restraints—to no avail, of course—as he steps closer and closer. You mumble incoherently against your muffle. You try to say something, anything. You need to bargain, you need to joke, you need to do something.

“I'm going to enjoy this.”

The torture is too much. He slices and stabs and scrapes, his movements both swift and slow and ragged and clean. You scream, sob, choke, make all the noise you can. He cuts you in all the right ways, missing your major arteries to ensure you don't bleed out before he's finished with you.

You're lightheaded, and it's hard to see. The pain is so great, you're not even sure you're feeling all of it by this point. Your voice is so abused by your cries that they're hardly audible anymore.

Every time he lets up, taking your silence for defeat, you grant him a look with all the defiance you can muster and brace for the pain to come.

Klaus is going to owe you so much when he gets here.

If he gets here.

You don't know how much more you can take.

He takes a picture at every point. He's gotten so many photos on his phone by now. So many of you screaming and crying, so many of you hurting and so close to broken.

You don't want him to see them.

He grips the knife again. You feel another weak sob rising in your throat when suddenly–

He turns toward the door, his movements halting to listen. There was a rustle, leaves and twigs. Probably nothing…

“Witch!” he yells. No response. “Avaline!” Nothing. He grunts, shaking his head. His knuckles tighten around the knife. “She's gone.”

You mumble against the tape. He looks at you and relents. He rips the tape off, ensuring it hurts you. You cry a little.

“You gonna…” your mouth and your throat are dry, “go investigate that…suspicious noise?”

He smacks you. You make no sound. He looks over his shoulder. “It's just a possum,” he mumbles, not believing himself. “They're all over the place.”

There's another rustle, a possum. He turns to you, silent.

“What? No funny quip?”

You try to think of something, but you come up dry. You let your head lean forward, ignoring the way the tape strains on your throat. It takes so much strength to hold up your head, and you're tired. You're covered in blood and sweat and tears, and you just want to sleep.

When you remain silent, he smiles, triumphant. He checks the time, sighing almost regretfully.

Click. Click.

“Okay,” he says. “Time to wrap this up.”

He tightens his grip around the knife. You want to fight…but you've gotten nothing left. You think of Klaus, how pissed he'll be, the upset he'll feel when you're gone. You don't think of yourself as having a huge impact on others and their lives. You've always thought you were disposable, and you flitted through people's lives holding that ideal.

But Klaus. Klaus is the one person you know loves you, in his way. And when you're dead, he will raise hell. You want to smile at the idea, but it takes too much.

Elijah will be upset.

A choked sound catches in your throat when the knife slices through the flesh of your belly. It drives in, and you don't have the energy to scream. The satisfaction in his eyes beams.

I'm sorry.

He smiles, readjusting his hold on his knife. He goes to twist–

“Keep your filthy hands off of her.”

They move too fast for you to realize he's already pressed up against the wall, held by his neck by a curling hand intent on ripping out throats. A tiny blossom of hope swells in your chest.

You're too dizzy to pay attention to your hero, it's all so fuzzy.

“How did you get out?” he says, panicking as he claws at his attacker’s hand.

“You've got a poor witch.”

You know that voice. Don't you? Somewhere in your brain. He's familiar…

“Your brother killed mine,” he keeps trying. It's retribution. It's retribution. “I'm only repaying a debt.”

He gets close to his face, squeezing his throat even tighter as he begins to sputter and choke. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are black, his face is dangerous.

“So am I.”

A hand bursts through his chest, squeezing around his beating heart. And he holds it there, he ensures that this creature feels every last thing. His grip tightens, and tightens, and tightens, and he relishes in the feeling of his beating heart slowly failing.

He pulls it out, holding the useless organ in his palm with the same disgust he grants the man it belongs to. It falls to the ground with a splat, as does he.

Your savior steps into your line of sight, his dark eyes wide with intense emotion you can't quite place. And you would smile if you could find the will.

He came for you. Elijah.

His bloodied hand presses against the side of your face. You don't flinch, even as he takes hold of the tape and rips it apart like he's nothing. He takes care to remove it from your neck, and you slump forward with your newfound freedom. Your neck is so tight, it really hurts.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes falling on the knife in your belly.

“Do I look alright…” you struggle to gasp, adding on the end so he doesn't worry too much. You don't want him to worry. “...Genius?”

He tries to look calm. He doesn't want to worry you. “Well, you're still funny, so you can't be hurt that badly.” That's a lie. You look terrible. There's blood everywhere. It takes every ounce of control he's got not to vamp out. He's never seen you worse.

“Fuck you.”

“Another time,” he says. You like jokes. He'll joke for you. “Breathe for me.”

You can't breathe. If you breathe, the knife moves, and it hurts so much. The gears are building so much, you can't even see his face. It's too late. You feel it coming. You tried.

He places his hand on the knife’s handle and begins to move. Before he can do anything, a scream tears from your throat with an energy you weren't aware you still possessed.

You begin to sob, a weak thing that slips from your throat and breaks his heart. He's never seen you so…broken. You were as strong and relentless as his brother, and now you're sobbing in his hands.

“No, don't,” you cry. “Don't, please.” You babble incoherently, in too much pain to properly pronounce your agony.

“I know,” he bids as softly as he can, “but it must come out so I can heal you.”

But your sobs overpower his gentle pleas. “It hurts. Elijah, it hurts so bad.”

He's getting choked up. He can't stand seeing you like this but he refuses to look away. “I know.”

“Please make it stop. Please.”

“I will,” he says, rolling up his sleeve. Biting into his wrist, he forces it to your lips as the blood rolls down his skin. “But you must drink.”

You refuse, sealing your lips shut and turning away from him. He doesn't have time for this—you don't have time for this. “You are in no position to refuse.”

It's getting harder and harder to breathe, to think straight. You can't think straight.

You shake your head weakly, slumping forward still as you feel your body giving out. “I don't want…” You lick your dry lips. “I'm not ready…”

He hears what you can't say. You're not ready to turn…

“You have to drink,” he tries, sounding as desperate not as he feels. His hand braces around the back of your head, he holds your dearly. “You must drink.”

You can't breathe. You try to inhale, but your breath is shallow and quick, fast pulls of air that don't reach your lungs before they're being forced out again. He says your name, pleading.

It's coming. You have to say it before it's too late.

“Elijah…”

He shakes his head. “Save your strength.”

No. You can do this. You can spend the last of your strength on this. “I never hated you…” your voice is barely above a whisper. It's choppy and slow, and you try to say everything you need to. “Just thought…” you try to clear your throat, you can taste the blood in the back of your throat, “just thought…” just a few more words, “...you hated…” you take in a weak breath struggling, “...me…”

His eyes are so full, so full of unshed tears and words he wants to say but cannot. “I don't,” he tries, keeping you awake for as long as you can, though you're fading quick. “But I can't prove it to you unless you live. Now drink.”

With all the strength you have left, you smile. It's a tiny, weak, painful little thing, but you do it for him. You don't want the last thing he knows of you to be petty insults or weak confessions of truth. You want him to know that you died with a real smile on your face, one you've wanted to give to him for a long time.

He calls your name, you don't respond as your drooping eyes begin to close. Your heart still beats, your pulse is weak but it still beats.

And he refuses to let you die. You will not die.

“If you won't save yourself, I will.”

Elijah flicks through the photos he'd found of that bastard’s phone. He looks at them all, one by one. He sees your eyes, so full of fear and pain and anger and hopelessness. Through each picture, he watches the resilience in your eyes fade until there's nothing but the emptiness of acceptance. He hates it, and he punishes himself with every single photo, refusing to forget that he almost lost you.

He hasn't shown Niklaus. And he doesn't intend to.

Your steady breaths are the only thing keeping him sane. If not for those, he would be losing his mind, pacing around the room and wanting nothing more than to punish someone for his shortcomings.

You almost died.

You should have died.

The rhythm of your breath is disrupted by a long inhale. He looks at you, watching your eyelids flicker and your brows furrow. A tiny hum arises from your throat.

Elijah crushes the phone in his palm. It crumbles to the floor.

You open your eyes, immediately blinded by the daylight peaking through the curtains. He moves his chair a little closer, giving you a small smile.

“Hey,” he says. Not ‘hello’, not ‘good afternoon’, not some smart and quick-witted comment. Just ‘hey’.

You grumble your response. Your body is heavy but not nearly as painful as you should feel. The memories of the night before flood into you before you can even see properly, but you know something is off before you can even react to them. You shouldn't be able to move right now.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

You sit up slowly, rising onto your elbows and staying there. “Like there's no longer a knife in my gut.”

“Technically, it missed your gut. The luck you have astounds me.”

You hum and look around. “Where's Klaus?”

He sits back again, but not in any comfortable way. “Trying to locate the witch who got away.”

You're not surprised, though you'd hoped he would be at your side when you awoke. “So the normal murder and mayhem thing?”

He hums. “The normal murder and mayhem thing.”

You got to sit up some more, stopping when you feel the ache in your body keeping you from doing so. You grunt. “Well,” you sigh, “that answered my question.”

A gentle hand presses against your completely bandaged arm. “Sit back,” he commands softly. “I've healed your deep wounds but everything else is still very much in recovery.”

You state the obvious as you sit back against the headboard, not looking at him. “You used your blood.”

“I did,” he says, unashamed. “I'm so sorry to have saved your life.”

You glance away from him. “Yeah…”

You look around the room, thinking silently. You're alive. You're in his room in the compound, tucked in his covers, secured in bandages that you're sure he did himself, and you're alive.

It's confusing.

He could have been rid of you, but he's here healing your wounds and watching over you while you rest. He could have let you die and say he came too late, said good riddance and left you be, but he's here making sure you recover. He could have just healed you and left. You would wake on your own and come to terms on your own with the fact that you are still breathing air.

He could have let you turn. He could have let you turn and left you to deal with the life of a vampire on your own, not ready and completely lost.

But he didn't.

It's confusing.

“Why are you still here, anyway?” you ask, turning to him with a furrowed brow. “I'm fine, you don't have to stay.”

He clenches his jaw, sitting back. “You were under my protection, and I let you get hurt.” His voice is soft, but it holds a gravity foreign to you on his lips. “It's my fault this happened. I'm making sure it doesn't happen again.”

So he feels guilty.

“Elijah, I know the only reason you saved me is because of me being Klaus’ friend or whatever,” you hide how much it hurts to say it out loud, “but you really don't have to stay behind and watch my every move anymore.” You swallow thickly, “You can get back to your life.”

He scoffs. “I did not only save you because of your relationship with my brother.” He seems almost offended. “Has it ever occurred to you that I actually care?”

You answer honestly.

“Not really. Once or twice on a maybe.” He nearly winces. It actually hurts him to hear you speak so truthfully about it. Had he really been so terrible to you?

You almost died, and you would have died thinking he despised you. The thought makes him cold.

“We aren't friends, I know,” you whisper.

There's a long silence. You don't look at him, but he can't look away from you.

“Do you remember what you told me?” His voice is gentle.

“When?”

“Before you passed out.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands as you brush your finger over the large band-aid going across the back of your palm. Yes, you remember. You remember how hard it was to say, you remember feeling your heart gushing in your chest, you remember the dizzying sight of his saddened face.

“I said…I didn't hate you.” You breathe in, looking at him. “And I don't.”

He shrugs, as if that answers all your questions. “Neither do I.”

That makes no sense. Now more than ever, you need something to make sense. You want him to give you a straight answer, you want your heart to stop pounding, you want your head to stop hurting, and you just want to tell him the truth, rather than the sarcasm-coated taunts you've had prepared for him for years.

“I don't get this,” you groan, resting your face in your hands and ignoring the pain blossoming from the bruises.

You look at him, dropping your hands in your lap. “From day one, you've been glaring daggers at me, threatening me, proving constantly that you want nothing to do with me and that my life to you is petty and needless.” His lips part, but he says nothing. “Now you're healing my wounds and saving my life and telling me you don't hate me.”

You're still so vulnerable from the night before, your emotions are still so raw from the fresh wounds you'd accumulated and the desperate confessions you'd revealed. Your eyes burn with tears, glowing easily with all that practice last night. And it only frustrates you, because you're tired of crying. You're tired of feeling so vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“Telling me,” you sniffle, wiping at your face roughly, groaning at the pain but doing nothing to stop it, “you actually care about me.” You're so tired.

He's hurt you again. He can't seem to stop hurting you.

He sits forward, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Do you want to know why I treated you as I did?”

“Yes,” you nod definitely. “Yes, I do. As much as I'd love to deny it I really wanna fucking know why you're playing with me like this.”

You want the truth. So he'll give it to you. It's the only thing he can really give to you.

“Because I'm a stupid man who is unable to articulate my feelings.” You go silent ad he stares at you, his gaze unyielding and yet so comforting in the way he watches you. You love his eyes, always watching, always on you, even when you both pretended they weren't.

He speaks softly but with a sincerity you feel pulling in your chest. “I haven't felt the way I have for anyone the way I feel for you in hundreds of years. Do you know what happened the last time I did?” You don't answer him, knowing the answer. Always knowing the answer to that question. The life of an immortal, a painful existence. His voice nearly broke with unshed tears. “She died. She was taken from me, and she died.”

He looks away from you, collecting himself once more with a steadying breath. Slowly, he makes himself look at you again. You stare at him, eyes wide and…fond. He was so afraid to find fear there, ever since he first saw it in your eyes yesterday, he's been terrified of finding your gaze to be a horrified stare.

But you gaze.

It gives him the courage to continue on. “I don't want to feel that way again. I don't want to lose like that again.” He almost lost you. “I did it to protect myself, and you. It's just my luck you stayed. My luck you let yourself fight me, too. Because with every petty insult, every little name, my love for you grew, and I hated it because I was trying so hard to hate you.”

Silence. Complete silence.

You stare at him, eyes wide, brows pinched. He watches you with all the emotion brimming in his chest, and you have to take a long moment to yourself to think clearly.

You look down at your hands, your bottom lip trembling. You take a slow breath in, suddenly remembering to breathe as you cast your eyes upon him once more.

“You love me?”

He sighs, nodding, reaching out slowly and taking your hand. His are large and warm, and you could sit there holding his hand forever.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I love you.” This can't be real, surely. “I love you, and I'm sorry.”

Your breath shakes. He's sorry.

“I'm sorry, too,” you whisper, your voice weak but just as determined to tell him the truth: the cold, naked, selfish truth. “Because if I ever had to live without you, Elijah, I think I'd die.” You swallow thickly. “I'd rather spend my whole life pretending to hate you than spend the rest of it without you.”

You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I love you so much it hurts.” You hate that you're crying again, especially when he is not.

But then you watch a lonely tear slip down his cheek, and you start to feel a little better. He laughs, a startled thing that takes him by surprise as he looks down at your hands. A laugh of your own bubbles out of your chest, you're perfectly content to sit there, holding hands and laughing. God, you love him.

His thumb brushes the back of your palm. A watery chuckle escapes you as you shake your head and roll your eyes. You wipe your tears away, sick of crying and wanting to take the victory with a smile instead of tears.

“God forbid we handle our feelings like adults, though, right?”

He nods, flicking his own away. “God forbid.”

You lick your lip briefly. “Please come here and kiss me.”

He wastes no time in covering the distance between you, wrapping a hand carefully around the back of your neck as he cradles your head. He pulls you in to meet halfway, his lips pressing up against yours. It's a perfect kiss, a perfect fit. One you had certainly not imagined a million times between insults and remarks.

You love him, you love him, you love him. And he loves you.

It feels so nice to finally tell the truth.

Because there are many things to love about Elijah Mikaelson, and there are many things to love about you. And you do. You love them through and through, finally finding solace in all the wrongs and not-quite-rights you'd lived with all these years.

“If we do this,” he says, pulling away from your lips but keeping his forehead pressed against yours, unable to pull apart from you after finally building that bridge, “your life will always be in danger.”

You smile. “Klaus Mikaelson is my best friend. My life is already in danger.” Your lips softly peck his own. “Might as well keep it up.”

A smile of his own tugs at his mouth and he pulls you in yet again, already so addicted to the taste of him. You love the way he loves you.

“Well, I suppose you're stuck with me now,” he sighs between kisses.

You chuckle lightly. You have no problem with that.

“Back at you.”

Klaus will have a field day when he finds out.

Always and Forever taglist: @avala-moon @xxwritemeastoryxx @melodiclovesong @katsukis1wife @thebrotherssalvatore321 @strangerliaa @njeancastro316 @dumble-daddy @thelastpyle @lovelyy-moonlight @hb8301 @athena-royal @alexxavicry @dumb-fawkin-bitch @papichulo120627 @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @evansstan-akya @anotherblackreader Suit and Staglist: @deviously-innocent @wanniiieeee @brandyovereager @starkleila @amythedoctor @slytherinlyn16 @anastacia1705 @sugakookieswithacupoftae16

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x you #elijah mikaelson fanfic #elijah mikaelson fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #reader insert #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #enemies to lovers

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starlightandfairies · 25 days

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Hiii 🫶🏼 I hope you're still up for doing an Elijah request! 🤗 I can't get this man out of my head haha

Soo it would be an idea where they met somewhere in Mystic Falls and immediately felt some bond between them, so it happens that they start falling in love (she's human but knows about vampires) but she's too afraid to get hurt so she also tries not to get too close to Elijah. One night he sees some stranger following her home from the Grill and even starts attacking her, Elijah is immediately there saving her and taking her home with him to treat her wounds (mostly some scratches) and he's just super worried. There she realizes that Elijah would never be the one hurting her and they finally share their feelings with a lot of kissing and cuddles afterwards and he holds her, telling how much she means to him.

Oh I hope this is not too weird at all 🙈❤️

Description: Upon meeting Elijah Mikaelson, the feelings start to come but in fear of being hurt, the reader decides to keep her walls up to protect herself. This changes after Elijah protects her after being attacked.

Warnings: fluff, small angst, physical assault (mild), she/her pronouns, maybe swearing?

*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*

Thanks so much for making this request! I can never get sick of Elijah, this man is always on my mind and please feel free to request again if you wish :) I really enjoyed writing this, thank you again :D

Key: Y/N = Your Name, POV = Point of view

Word Count: 2,125

First Person's POV

Tonight at the Grill was a ‘live acoustics’ night, some of the performers were good and others were quite frankly not that great. Bonnie, Elena and Caroline were off on the next big adventure for the vampiric save-the-day business and while I knew about all the vampires, witches, werewolves and all that extra fun stuff. Besides Matt, I was the only human in the group and somehow I was pushed aside to be kept ‘safe; despite Matt always being dragged into the whirlpool of drama even if he didn’t want to be.

“The music is wonderful for the atmosphere tonight, don’t you agree?” That voice would haunt my dreams, haunt my every thought, I couldn’t fathom how gentle and warm a voice could sound. I glanced to the side, shooting a polite smile to the impeccably dressed man and nodded in agreement.

“I do agree, I feel like I’m in like a cute little romance story, the warm lighting and the music-“ I cut myself short, realising I was babbling to a random stranger who more than likely did not care for my ideas and thoughts.

“I can see how you would see that.” Oh, gosh- those eyes! That smile! This man would haunt me forever, picture perfect and everything I would want in a man. I continued to share a polite smile with the man, fiddling with the straw in my chocolate milkshake and turned myself slightly to face the man a little better.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…?” Realising that he was waiting for my name, I placed my drink down and took his hand.

“Y/N L/N” He softly cupped my hand, shaking it and proceeded to share his name.

“Elijah Mikaelson.” I wish I could’ve hidden my reaction better, my eyes went wide, and my smile flattened for a moment before I quickly made sure to continue to be nice and polite. Elijah carefully rested my head on the bar, took a small sip of whatever his drink was and gazed at me with a quizzical look.

“You know who I am…” His tone was neither harsh nor hurt, Elijah seemed to have suspected my knowledge of his name and he even seemed curious by the idea of my knowledge.

“I know of your brother Niklaus… Elena told me about you, I think she might have exaggerated a bit. You don’t seem like the antagonist she kinda painted you out to be. From what I’ve heard, you’re the nicer brother… the noble one and I'm sure first glances can be deceiving but… I don’t know- you don’t seem like a bad man.” He briefly licked his lips, eyes shooting up to the ceiling and seemed to be contemplating his next moves.

“I suppose you know-“

“That you’re a…” I leaned closer to whisper so people passing by wouldn’t hear.

“An Original.”

“You don’t seem to be phased.”

“Team doppelgänger has built up my immunity to supernatural beings.” I let out a weak chuckle, cringing internally and turned my focus back on my drink. I wanted to keep speaking with him, I really did want to keep speaking with him but I knew the world that I happened to live in and I didn’t fancy the idea of being bait or hurt as collateral damage.

“It was really nice to meet you Elijah but I have to go.” He nodded, that handsome smile appearing once more, his actions made me gush and brought butterflies into my belly as he grabbed my jacket and assisted in placing it back on.

“I hope that you have a good evening, Y/N”

“Same to you Elijah.” He seemed to have a thought pop into his head, I stopped in my tracks, allowing for him to have the benefit of the doubt and give him the chance to speak his mind.

“May I have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

“Maybe… There’s always tomorrow.” I knew I had given myself away, I could feel my heart skip a beat, I’m sure he could hear it, his facial expression didn’t change but I could feel that he knew what I was feeling.

“Have a good evening,” I whispered, brushing past him to carry on my way.

+++++++

I had seen Elijah a couple of times since our first meeting, we had small conversations and I tried my best to conceal my heart, I didn't want to get close to this man despite enjoying his presence, his voice and the true appearance of his gentlemanly ways made me fall into a daydream greater than any story or dream I could ever have or read.

The next time I saw Elijah was three months after our first meeting, as I said we had multiple different meetings and they were all the greatest moments of my life despite how much I tried to protect my fragile heart. I had left my home for the park, I wanted to read outside of my home and get some fresh air away from the stuffiness of my bedroom. I rested the picnic blanket underneath a large tree, I read three chapters of my book before I felt a presence looming nearby, I placed the book to the side and stood up, surveying the area for a figure and jumped in my skin seeing Elijah approaching me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, may I join you?" I nodded, smiling at the man, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt and sat down with me on the picnic blanket. He gently picked my book up, staring at the cover with intrigue, I observed him with butterflies growing in my stomach, a blush wanting to form on my cheeks as I continued to drown in what was possibly a huge crush for the Original Vampire.

"Ignite Me by Tahereh Mafi... I'm not sure I've heard of this one before."

"I doubt you would've, I don't exactly picture you reading a book like this?" He smiled, tilting his head slightly, a deep chuckle leaving his mouth and he handed me back the book.

"Why is that?"

"Well... I don't know, I picture you reading older books nothing from the late 20th century to the early 21st century." Elijah briefly nodded in agreement, I smiled proudly at my guess and fiddled with the tassels hanging off of my bookmark. The vampire took off his suit jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his button-up, I bit the inside of my cheek, begging myself to remain calm and avoid giving away any kind of emotions being revealed.

"Enlighten me, will you though, please? What's it about?" I cleared my throat, leaning closer to him with joy forming, giddy that he was showing interest in something that I liked and enjoyed.

"It's the third book in the series, I've read it before, and this one is one of my favourites. Essentially the series is all about control some people have these powers and the leaders are trying to control these people. The relationship of the main characters is what I happen to enjoy the most about it, I love how Tahereh created their bond from..."

"Why did you stop?" Elijah gently questioned, his face furrowing in concern, I wanted to cringe but I forced the words out before I could let that show. Taking a deep breath, I turned my gaze back to him, scrunching my face up briefly and proceeded to explain to Elijah what was going through my head.

"Whenever I ramble on to the Salvatores and all that, it's clear that they don't care and I'm not wanting to force that onto you. I'm sorry." Elijah tutted, shaking his head and holding out his hand for me to take. Hesitating for a moment, I finally rested my hand in his, holding my breath for a moment and kept my eyes focused on him as he rested his other hand on top of mine.

"You do that too often, Y/N, I can see you trying to protect your heart and you have a wide range of information waiting to come out and you shut yourself down because you expect everyone else to do that. I hope you find someone... someone who makes you realise you don't need to do that."

"Could possibly end up being you, Elijah," I whispered.

+++++

When someone unknown came into Mystic Falls, it was always a concerning event, the vampires were always the most suspicious of strangers and most of the time they were typically right for not trusting the stranger. It was late when I left the grill tonight, Elijah was growing on my mind more and more, and I would be hit with a wave of memories at random moments.

"Up ahead, there's an alley to your right, walk down it. Try anything-"

"Okay... I understand." I whispered, complying as I walked a little quicker and turned down the alleyway. I cried out as I was instantly shoved against the wall, my head ached and the world spun around me, I bit back a sob as I hit the ground and hissed as the gravel bit into my skin. I kicked off my heels, not fancying a broken ankle and lept to my feet running towards the street but missed as the man tackled me to the ground and which resulted in blood slightly trickling down my forehead and more cuts forming against my skin.

It felt like something out of a vampire movie, I heard a whoosh and then a light thud. Elijah appeared, holding the man against the wall effortlessly with one hand and easily compelled the man to walk off and not commit any sort of crime again. I let out a few sobs as the pain sunk in and the adrenaline started to fade away.

Elijah swooped me into his arms, effortlessly taking me to his mansion and rested me down on his obnoxiously large bed. He crouched down, gently cupping my face in his hands, observing my facial features and swiftly disappeared somewhere before running back.

"Are you okay?" He questioned, focusing on grabbing the things from the first-aid kit to treat my wounds.

"I'm okay..." I whispered, hissing as he wiped an alcohol wipe across the graze on my palm and watched as he apologised profusely for inflicting any added pain onto me. Elijah was so attentive to my needs, he cleaned the blood and dirt away from my cuts and grazes. Covering them with bandaids, doing what he could to assist in caring for me. It was as he was lingering for a moment, observing my form that I realised that Elijah Mikaelson would never hurt me. He would never cause any harm to me, Elijah Mikaelson would protect me and I knew that I wouldn't need to worry any longer.

"You wouldn't hurt me..." I whispered, staring at the vampire as he grasped my face and held eye contact with me.

"Y/N L/N I would never dream of hurting you, you... you're perfect... Y/N you are the epitome of perfect, I haven't met someone as intelligent, kind, sweet, and funny in a long time. Y/N I love you and I hope that you'll allow-" I pushed myself closer to him, carefully cupping his face to kiss the man who had possessed my dreams too often.

"Elijah, please, never let me go, I can't keep guarding myself-"

"Shhh, I've got you." He kissed my forehead, pulling me into his arms and pushing himself to lay against the headboard of his bed. I inhaled, holding onto the warm and mesmerising smell of his cologne, I curled into his chest and hummed gently as he rested another kiss on my forehead.

I felt protected, Elijah was my guardian angel, and he made me feel warm and gooey. Made me giddy and the butterflies a constant swarm in my belly, I fiddled with his hands, staring at the family ring that rested on his finger and glanced to him as he pulled my face to meet his. I hummed as he rested a kiss against my lips, sucking in another deep breath and curling in closer as he strokes my hair, his touch comforting and loving.

"Can I stay here? Just in your arms? Where I'm safe and with you, you Elijah who looks after me and takes the time to listen and know me?" Elijah's smile made the butterflies come to life, my cheeks flushed red and his simple words reassured me for an infinity of time.

"Always and forever."

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