'why do you think you withheld speech?'

For half a second, she thought he’d turn around and forgive her.

But all that remained was Stefan’s silhouette, slowly detaching itself from the heated argument and eventually from the hallways completely.

She sighed.

The sun had cast a glowy light on everyone’s faces today, beaming through the school windows with the audacity to make the worst of the monsters look domestic and utterly sophisticated.

She hated Rebekah. It was either the blonde Original she loathed so deeply or perhaps the truth that spilled out the Gilbert’s lips so easily under the spell of compulsion.

Regardless, Elena swore the truth could’ve fallen like sand, trivial and long forgotten if she’d communicated with Stefan properly. She crossed her heart and hoped to die just to prove her betrayal with his brother wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Rebekah made it out to be.

Yet guilt still clenched her heart in a tight hug, rather punishing than comforting.

“Pity about your relationship.” An imposing, British accent slid into the air. She turned around, heart thrumming at the sight of another Original, both with barely contained rage and apprehension.

“Kol.” She breathed out, attempting to regain her composure. “Aren’t you supposed to be off to wherever you’re going?”

“You mean off to a shortcut for hell on earth like you lot? I’ll pass.” He stepped closer, playing with the very stake meant for his wench of a sister, his calloused fingers tracing the white streaks. “You know, this could all be hindered. If I just killed you now, no boyfriend of yours would be trying so desperately to reach the cure.”

His eyes snapped back to her face, the one ugly emotion that is guilt etched on every crease of hers, disregarding the momentary threat he’d thrown that was ought to stir some fear.

“But you don’t want it, do you?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this.” She admitted, throwing her hands in defeat, unable to keep quiet anymore. “All I am to Stefan is a broken toy. Everyone says it’s the sirebond stirring up feelings for Damon, but…” She gulps, shaking her head. “I love him.”

“Love.” The word ricocheted back to her, averting her gaze to the Mikaelson. “Such a vague word. Believe me, I’ve lived a thousand years without ever learning the concrete definition of it.”

“There is no concrete definition.” The Gilbert corrected boldly, ignoring his eyebrows raised in interest. “When I’m with Damon… I feel free. I don’t feel like a project. Like something that needs to be fixed.” She opened her mouth again, then closed it, a croak of uncertainty stuck in her throat.

No, don’t chicken out in front of an Original now, Elena. Speak your mind.

So she continued. “Love is something you experience, not a concept you learn from the dictionary alone. Your family wouldn’t get that.”

When her bravery went unchallenged, confirmed by the silent stare received from Kol instead an unpredictable, clean slate into her chest, she turned to walk away.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have mischaracterized the wiliest brother.

The doppelgänger was met with nothing other than a hard chest, the sight of a broad frame evoking a gasp from her. Kol’s eyes narrowed like fine lines, the proximity between them taking away all the air. “Nik’s insistence not to hurt you means nothing to me anymore, so I highly recommend you don’t test me.”

The threat hung in the air and for the first time, maybe, Elena had finally grasped the gravity of the situation. There she stood, alone with an Original who’d hated her from the beginning, more rebellious than ever now.

If the sired girl had learned anything by now, it was to steer clear of one particular Original when he threatened her; Klaus. Mainly because she knew he’d mean every word, every promise of torment, every jeopardy he’d cause.

What she didn’t consider was his younger brother, twice as psychotic, half as merciful.

“You, my dove, are the one springing back and forth from good brother to bad brother, and you dare to make claims that I’m incapable of love?” He inched closer infinitesimally, his warm breath fanning over her cheeks.

“It’s hard to believe otherwise.”

“And what do you know of love, dove? You reek of desperation and Damon’s dirty, womanizing dick. Surely, that can’t be the example you’re setting.”

Her breath hitched violently. Profanity had never come so casually out of a Mikaelson’s mouth for their presence alone had always been menacing enough to make someone clam up. It felt like an unforgivable sin, the irony not lost on her. Despite such, she protested for her sire’s sake only. “Damon might have had a past,” she breathed heavily, all defenses up. “but he is not a womanizer. And he does it for me.”

“Tell me,” Kol said. “Has he made you come yet?”

Elena’s lips sealed, her eyes widening with a mien akin to shame, or perhaps quandary. “Excuse me?”

“I’m trying to figure out if he really does love you.”

“You are so disgusting.” The words are spat with venom, their shoulder brushing with deliberate hostility as she pushed past, but he caught her wrist just in time.

“Not so fast.” He pulled her back, flush against his chest before she bounced off again. “I asked you a question. And I, again, suggest you don’t test me.”

Candor didn’t find her easily, not around Kol. But the way he said it, the way the question struck a cord inside her, compelling her brain to return to the night she and Damon had sex for the first time, her anger diminished, now replaced with a pensive expression.

No. No, he hadn’t managed it. Not because he couldn’t, she pondered, but because he was too busy chasing his own high after he’d succeeded in stealing his brother’s girlfriend.

And the thought that she was yet again another project, an object of lust or a conquest made her stomach churn disgustingly.

“Tick tock, darling.” He mocked, tilting his head.

“Yes.”

He stepped closer. She could physically feel her pulse banging with its fists against the skin.

“Liar,” he replied, the whisper woven with tenderness and an undertone too mocking to be sympathy. “Plenty of other men hoping to please you the way you wish, yet this sirebond makes you defend the one who can’t.”

“Plenty of other men?” She scoffed, a sound full with ridicule. “I’ve hurt the two enough, getting back with Stefan just so he can please me is just another Mikaelson move. Forgive me for having that last shred of dignity.”

“So make them hurt for not being able to gratify you. And for the record,” He smirked, a devilish act. “I was talking about me, darling.”

It threw her off. “What?”

Kol didn’t like to admit it, but he’d always wondered what it felt like to be loved by someone as human as, well, a human. Even if the female Gilbert wasn’t such now, she still had that touch to her, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed her dignity was being stripped bare by someone as bastardizing as Damon Salvatore.

“Speaking under oath now, love, this isn’t me deceiving you to take what I want like Damon does.” His smile softened at the edges, faltering slightly when he saw the battle playing out in her brown pools. “I can help you break it. The sirebond. I can stop them from shoving the cure down your throat, spare you and your loved ones from the sacrifices everyone would be willing to make merely for you to be human again.”

“I-I can’t just…” She shook her head, detaching herself from Kol. “Maybe I don’t want to break the connection.”

“And that’s another problem I’m ready to dismantle.” Overlooking her reluctance, he mirrored her movement, for every step back of hers he stepped forward. “One chance. Only chance. And no other chances to backtrack.” He reached carefully for her face, the brush of his knuckles against her cheek a blasphemous act she was sure with bone-certainty he’d be damned for. “Do you want them to sacrifice your brother’s humanity if it means getting yours back?”

Her eyes track his every movement, every motion, every breath to detect any lies or deception to no avail. “The damage has already been done.”

“And it can be stopped.” He jabbed back. “All you have to do is say the word.”

“I can make Stefan and Damon stop on my own.” She shot back in an obvious attempt to prove independence.

Only her self-preservation skills did he doubt, never her independence. For all he knew, the girl had no sense of a single survival instinct if it slapped her right across the face. Though one of the few selfless yet stubborn things admirable about her, he couldn’t find it in himself to respect her suicide mission.

“And my darling brother, Klaus? Can you stop him without my help?”

Bingo, right on the nail. He’d gotten her, seeing as to how a brain-racking crease appeared on her forehead, her hands fidgeting each other. “I can’t trust you, Kol. I’m sorry.”

Now.

Now was his time to prove himself.

With a slow, wary motion, his arm stretched towards her, handing the white oak stake. The very weapon capable of putting him down— permanently so.

Her eyes shifted to the weapon, all opportunities playing out in her mind, then back to his dark irises. The usually disingenuous ones, now putting full, irrevocable trust in her, in this moment. Her trembling hand lifted, believing for a fleeting second he might plunge it into her heart.

But he didn’t.

All she felt was the rough wood she had wrapped her hand around, feeling heavy and surreal.

Before the words of gratitude left her mouth, he’d cut her off straight away, his lips stealing hers.

Gently. Gradually. Not the cruelty everybody was used to.

She caught it like a sudden intake of breath, all remaining air leaving her lungs. To both their surprises, she didn’t push away, she didn’t resist— she simply let it happen, her reciprocation so small on the human eye, yet significantly large for Kol. He only pulled away to grasp for the little oxygen that was left scattered somewhere amidst the plight.

“Kol—“

He didn’t let her finish. Reality snapped back to a dark classroom in an instant, the wood dropping to the floor with a neglected thud, and all the Gilbert girl could feel was another type of wood pressing against her most intimate area.

The sight of her legs wrapped around Kol’s hips was so obscene it shot a massive surge of electrical current forces into her. Along with that, she felt her heartbeat in two, very different parts of the body.

“Look at me, darling.” He insisted with a shit-eating grin, the sun casting a mean flash on the side of his face as if he weren’t the fucking devil himself. “My, my, I should have given in to the doppelgänger allure way earlier.”

His crotch snapped against hers.

A short gasp. A reaction satiable enough for the older vampire’s grin to broaden lazily.

She protested with her words, her mind weak and long yielded. “I c-can’t, Kol, I’m with Damon!”

“You’re smarter than this, dove. He only regards you as a conquest, something that can be as fucked up as him one day.” He narrowed his eyes dangerously, his hands gripping the flesh of her thighs. “Tearing brothers apart may be a Petrova trait, but it can be easily broken.” His lips lightly brush against her ear, his following words absolute and final. “If you choose a better man to take care of you.”

He dived in for her neck, leaving sloppy, wet-trails behind and savoring the desperation in her fingernails that bit deeply into his back.

“This isn’t going to break the sirebond…” The words left her mouth breathily, still holding onto her last shred of love for the older Salvatore.

He pulled back, his face half confident and half perpetually annoyed. He cocked his head. “No?” Playing with the hem of her top, his big hand slid up until it reached just millimeters from her breast.

She inhaled deeply, tilting her head upwards to meet his gaze with equal challenge. “Try me.”

“Well that sounds like an invitation.” His grin returned before he tore the fabric from inside with arrogant swiftness, her crimson top ripped right in the middle.

Her reaction could be described as both offended and concerned by his eagerness, jaw dropped open. He could’ve sworn it was wide enough to stuff his dick inside.

His palm wrapped around her jaw to move it out of his way as he burrowed his head deep inside her neck, skin sucking and barrier-fracturing.

Elena remembered what Damon had told her once; blood sharing was personal. The first time she was offered the intimacy of it she genuinely believed it could be counted as a body, reminiscent of the time her lips ground against Damon’s bloody hand back when she couldn’t feed properly.

Someone ten times as experienced and old as Damon Salvatore certainly knew that. Right? Right. Hold on. “Are you drinking my blood?” She asked suddenly, uneasy about his following response.

“Problem, love?”

“Yes. Big problem.” A scoff rang in his ear as she shook her head in disbelief. “Damon told me it’s personal. Incredibly personal.”

At the sound of that motherfucker’s name, he rolled his eyes, visibly irritated. “My god, leniency be allowed for the fact I haven’t stripped all the memories of him out of your pretty head.”

“Do not.”

“No need to worry, darling.” He smiled, close-mouthed, dimpled and absolutely mocking. “Where’s the fun in that when I can gradually hear his name dissolve into trivia and replaced by a lovely ‘Kol’, all whiny and mewling?”

A deep crimson crept into her face, tingly and treacherous. He reveled in the look-of-surrender that hardened his groin in a matter of seconds, compelling his hands to roam over her curves as if to test they were real.

They were, to nobody’s surprise, awfully real.

Palms halted on her back, his thumb tugging at the edge of her bra and snapping the elastic band. It thwacked against her skin. His hungry eyes averted from her perky tits back to the Gilbert’s dilemmic eyes. “May I?”

The fear that speaking her cunt’s desire aloud might make it come true lingered in her mind. She didn’t want to fuck Kol. She didn’t want to be stuffed by his long, veiny cock whilst her muscles betrayed her by fluttering around his girth and she most definitely did not just imagine all of that. She merely held his gaze, scared her moistness would give away her answer.

With a soft click, he unclasped her bra, pulling it down with cruel slowness. She watched her own breasts spill out, the hard nipples that had been impatiently waiting to be sucked ever since his boyish grin surfaced to the top.

Marvelous was a word not strong enough to describe his lit up face, reclaiming that infuriating smirk of his. “Sweet Mother of Betsy.” He whispered mostly to himself, tenderly engulfing one.

Her skin pebbled in a breath, the cold of his hands warring against her heated body as did rationality and one of the seven deadly sins in her head; lust. Just as the former conquered the latter, he just had to bring her tit to his mouth to slurp it like last supper, earning himself a small whimper.

Elena wished God would punish the Original for being so disgustingly good at suckling.

He watched her face from beneath, enjoying the noise, smiling against her flesh. “Giving in so soon already? Weak.”

At that, she stubbornly bit her lips until they nearly bled, opting to not give him the satisfaction of wringing out any more noise. His mouth left her nipple with a plop, streaking up to her jaw, right beside her ear. “Suppress it all you want, darling. I can wrench out any sound I please.”

A good two minutes of one sided making out passed before he realised how hell-bent Miss Gilbert was on making him suffer. Her teeth gritted so hard they could break at any moment, whimpers bottled inside her, breathing controlled as much as was possible.

He deadpanned, pulling back.

“Persistent.” Noted with no affection, he decided he was rather tired of this tedium and the new century’s moral obligations. Back in his day, he fucked. Dirty.

Another sound of fabric tearing screamed again, this time her denim jeans split open like a yawning hymn, and instead of forcing a finger inside, he teased her with feather light touch.

That was, as Kol had always believed, the dirtiest act committed during sex, his fingers running through her slick folds without pushing past the ring muscle yet. A snort escaped him with pure mockery at the jarring state.

“Dripping wet? I haven’t even properly touched you yet.” A near moan emerged from her mouth and she could physically feel every drop leaving her hole like rain droplets. “One more sound like that, darling.” Followed by his cock springing free, her eyes grew pathetically bigger as did his length. The emptiness made her hole clench, desperate for something. Anything.

“No.” Still, she protested, her voice gravel and on edge.

He smiled. “That wasn’t a question, dear.”

Before she knew it, her hands found steadiness on his shoulders, chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon all because he continued teasing her rim. The room was filled with squelching sounds as he would push only his head and pull back when she was starting to enjoy it. “Sorry, love. You’re gonna have to beg like your cunt does. Isn’t she such an adorable slut?” Elena’s anger grew, a groan escaping when he dared to push an inch deeper than usual. “Beg.”

“Fuck you!” She managed out, drawing frantic lines on his chest. In an instant, she flew against the opposite wall and before she could be handed any mercy, two large hands scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. Her back met the teacher’s desk with brutality, his frame climbing over her.

When the dizziness subsided, her fluttered eyes opened entirely, watching Kol hover above her. He had held her wrists firmly against the table, nudging her knees. “Open, sweetie.”

She felt the veins first. Pushing against her rim and, finally, plunging deep inside until his balls and her skin touched. The act was slow in such a cruel precision only he could embody. Before profanity shot back at him, he made the first friction, earning himself a girlish gasp.

Slow thrusts evolved into hip snapping, the sound of skin slapping so erotic Elena could feel her climax building like guilty pleasure. She was still trying. Trying with strenuous efforts, though futile, to keep quiet. But the more quiet she kept, the harder it became to do so. “God, Kol!” Her brows knitted in ecstasy.

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain? Naughty girl. You ought to be punished for such blasphemy.” He fastened his pace, feeling her hands struggle to overpower his. Cute.

Eventually, when she stopped fighting knowing she was doomed to fail anyway, she resorted to imploring. Sweet pleas seeping out of her. “Kol, I… you need to slow… slow down!”

Kol pretended not to hear her, leaning down with a faux sympathetic ‘hm?’. When her lips reopened without the capability to bring out any more words, he slowed down, his cock still inside her, twitching and ready to launch at any given moment. “Repeat that, baby.”

Stupidly enough, the brunette girl mistook said act as generosity. She opened her mouth to repeat, as commanded, only for him to fasten the pace again before she could speak. He loved the way her sad eyes widened at that.

More sounds she couldn’t control.

Her toes curled against nothing but her shoes, feeling his rough hands continue roaming and pinning her body down, swallowing her cries of moans like they were treats he worked hard for.

She’d be lying if she claimed he weren’t better than Damon. It was unfair to compare them, she thought, as Kol had lived for longer, thus collecting more experience. But her moans ripped free again when he held her hips in place this time, renewing his energy with animalistic pounding.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Her orgasm kept building up and she hated that he could anticipate her arrival, therefore stopping just before with the meanest smile. It had happened twice now. Two. Fucking. Times. And he finally leaned down, his British accent so soft her rage grew at the contradiction. “Third time’s the charm.”

Finally, the ebullition of anger and built-up yet unfinished orgasms hit, the sudden shift gifting her temporary power over him. His back hit the desk, followed by another thud of the school’s hole-punch that hit the ground, and she was sitting above him now, cowgirl style.

His laugh echoed through the room, surprised and absolutely turned on. “Oh, this is fascinating—“ She left his sentence unexecuted by a hard jump on his length, her cunt swallowing it full. He grunted, strained and shook, veins nearly popping out of his forehead.

She propped herself with her hands on his chest, caramel strands falling to his face as they both watched his cock disappear every new second. She humped, rough, unrelenting and absolutely perverted, large hands placed on her hips.

Her ass cheeks jiggled with every friction, every bounce and jerk. She was chasing her own high now. “Just like that, baby. Let yourself go…” The Original dragged his words into a breathy groan, head rolling back against the edge of the table, savouring this dominant side of hers. He liked to be challenged, more so by the town’s innocent girl and Christ— she had spunk.

A furious, guttural grumble erupted from the Gilbert, feeling his attempts at holding back from finishing himself. She didn’t mind, because this wasn’t about him. It was about her.

His cock dripped wet from her juice, and with a final, brutal jump, she finally reached her destination, as did he, and squirted all over his clothes, from his jeans to his shirt. Meanwhile, his balls emptied out into her womb, filling her entire belly with a sickening amount it could’ve bypassed nature’s law of vampire’s incapability to procreate. Images of their future children flashed in front of Kol’s eyes suddenly, unwilling but terrifyingly irresistible. When holding herself became difficult, she collapsed onto him, thighs trembling from constant overstimulation.

He brushed back her sweaty hair strands from her damp forehead into her roots, pressing a kiss on her head. “There, there, my dominatrix. Relax into my embrace.”

“Damon’s gonna be angry…” She tilted her head upwards until their eyes met. “I can’t trust myself not to tell him.”

He gripped her jaw, forcing her to look only at him. His pupils dilated alongside hers and again, she found herself in another hypnosis by another Original, though this time the following words were—

You didn’t unpack grief the way you did your suitcase a few years ago when news were evinced your parents had died.

A tragic death, too.

It had been approximately three years since your residence in Mystic Falls, hugging your old friends goodbye at your college campus. Friends you had just recently made in a new city, only to bid farewell a few months later to return to the idyllic Southern facade of a town — Mystic Falls.

And there you had resided, taking care of the last two close family members of yours.

Despite the fact you’d been living there since childhood and, well, three years now, you weren’t aware of the creatures that roamed the town restlessly while you were asleep, or better yet, wide awake, going on about your casual day.

Therefore, it was safe to say Damon and Stefan had done a great job at concealing such dark secrets as Elena had begged them to, whether it was through compulsion or relentless insistence that you stay somewhere else while they walked into another supernatural errand.

But not anymore.

Because tonight was the night Elena and Jeremy could finally put an end to their rather vexing obstacle that’d been hindering everyone from the cure for vampirism.

Kol.

When you opened the front door, you expected nothing less than the quiet home you’d grown up in and the hooting of owls that usually signaled the nightfall.

Quiet, hushed, almost whispering secrets that weren’t meant for your ears.

Instead— pandemonium.

Your brother, the boy who used to sneak in smoke sessions in a fit of teen angst, grabbing hold of a sharp, wooden weapon.

And Elena, the usually compassionate, young girl, enabling Jeremy to do so while holding down a guy who looked pretty young.

He was struggling. Despite his simmering anger beneath, you saw the spark of fear that flashed in his eyes when the youngest Gilbert raised the weapon and—

Push.

All three were too absorbed in the quarrel to see you advancing on Jeremy, his back hitting the counter with a sudden grunt, the wooden stake falling to the ground with a sharp thud.

“Aria, no!” Elena roared, her voice raw and nerve-wrecking before a large hand engulfed that mouth of hers.

Kol’s hand found its way to Elena’s nape, twisting her head in a breath until her body dropped to the floor like the ends of a burnt cigarette.

He should’ve killed them, perhaps a generosity— no, he should have tied them up, performed medieval executions, tortured the two until they grasped at the last moment of pleasure amidst all the agony before death swallowed them whole, only for Kol to feed them back to life and do it all over again.

But he didn’t. Not when he saw their sister.

Jeremy had pushed you off in a fit of pique and desperation to continue their murder attempt, only to see nothing remaining of both the first and the second obstacle.

Before you could sit up, Kol blurs you both, trees, lamplights and houses streaking past in a flash. The world snapped back when he’d thrown you unceremoniously onto his bed, king sized with a rosewood canopy hanging over it, a Persian rug on the floor adorning its ancient living.

You exhaled, long and caught in your lungs full with disorientation and something else that hinted fear.

“What just—“ You looked up at the same man standing before you, his smile tender but not quite reaching his eyes, frame dominating yours as he towered over you.

He stepped closer to the bed, grabbing your ankles when you tried to scramble away. “No, no, darling, stay here.” He mused.

He stayed there, positioned between your legs and watched the girl underneath him, the spitting image of Elena.

Rage like nothing before built up again until he looked into your eyes again, really looked, and saw the softness that lay beneath the terror.

Perhaps you were nothing like Elena.

Your brown hair, a little lighter than your sister’s, was sprawled all over his mattress, almond irises staring back as if everything else became trivial now.

Your brows knit together, hands trembling violently, and you swallowed a thick chunk as his gaze draped over your lightly-freckled nose.

His grin didn’t waver, only grew. “Well, hello there.”

Like scuff against your windpipe, you whispered. “Where am I?”

“In my junction, sweetheart. Where brave and stupid girls come and go,” he traced your jaw, the silence electrifying. “and don’t live long enough to tell the tale.”

His hands reached for the spasms that had reached yours, interlocking them on each side of your face against the mattress and leaning down until your breaths mingled. “You saved me.”

Barely perceptible, you nodded. “I-I didn’t know what they were doing. I thought you needed my help.”

“You trust people too easily.”

“You’re not bad.”

“Darling, I am. I’m also quite surprised that there’s one person in the family without virtue signaling traits.” He sucked in a dramatic, pausing breath and continued. “See, I was initially planning on gouging their eyes out; alive.”

You flinched. He liked it.

“But then you saved me,” he dragged his finger up your arm, reaching your neck and pressing lightly on the pulse. “And how could I resist such a delicious, beautiful angel?”

Then, the question that hung between you finally fell from your lips, reluctant and stomach churning with agitation. “What are you?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He flashed a mean smirk, taunting and soft simultaneously. “I assume neither your friends nor siblings have told you. Perhaps unfairly — knowledge is power.”

You waited, chin quaking with threatening tears.

“I’m a vampire, love.” With his thumb, he caught a tear before it fell all the way, cradling the back of your head with his large hand. “And so is your sister.”

“W-what?”

“And that nuisance of a bastard, Damon with his brooding brother, Stefan. And the bimbo doll, Coraline, was it?”

“Caroline…” You tilted your head with dumbfoundedness, not looking to correct him but to confirm you were talking about the same blonde girl with whom you used to play tea parties as children. “Forbes?”

“Just about right.”

“No— no, it can’t be. You’re lying. I watched them grow up!”

You found herself clamming up again, not because you’d been interjected with a verbal explanation, but because you saw the veins appearing underneath the man’s eyes, the whites surrounding his pupils now a hot color of red.

Eyes widened like a scared kitten’s when his elongated fangs shimmered cruelly, meant to coax you into surrender.

His impish smile was all white and sharp teeth.

You should have scrambled away, every instinct buried deep within flesh and bone screamed at you to run.

A predator stood before you.

Not metaphorically, not figuratively.

A genuine monster, pulled straight from the sort of stories mothers tell children around campfires to keep them from wandering too far into the woods.

Yet your body remained rooted where it was.

Terrified. Absolutely terrified. But rooted all the same.

Your gaze remained fixed on the veins spiderwebbing beneath his eyes, on the unnatural red staining the whites, on the elongated fangs that protruded past lips far too beautiful for something so dangerous.

The realization settled inside your stomach like a stone.

You finally understood.

The impossible, the absurd, hell, the thing that should not exist.

And yet it was standing right in front of you, towering over you as your lungs struggled to draw in enough air.

The canopy above blurred slightly as tears gathered along your lash line, your gaze darting from his eyes to the fangs protruding from his mouth.

He looked pleased, and it wasn’t because you were afraid, but because he’d proven his point.

The realization only made your stomach twist harder.

You pushed yourself backward on instinct, palms pressing against the silk sheets until your shoulders met the carved headboard.

There was nowhere else to go.

Kol noticed. Of course he did.

The smile lingering on his mouth softened by a fraction. “Now then,” he mused, tilting his head. “Do you still think I’m lying?”

You swallowed hard. “No.” The word emerged small and sheepishly honest.

His grin widened. “Good.”

Your gaze dropped to his strong, dangerous hands. The same ones that had snapped Elena’s neck without a second thought.

Your pulse fluttered wildly, realization dawning on you. “You killed people.” The accusation slipped out before you could stop it.

Silence.

When you looked up again, the amusement had vanished from his face.

“I’ve killed many people.” The answer came easily, far too easily.

You should hate him. You should. Yet all you could think about was Jeremy raising that stake with active aid of Elena. About the fear you’d seen flash across Kol’s face for a split second before you’d shoved your brother away.

The memory made your chest ache. “You were going to die.”

His brows lifted suddenly. Of all the responses he could have expected, that clearly wasn’t one of them. “What?”

Back pressed firmly against the headboard, you gathered enough courage to meet his gaze. “You were trapped.” You hated the way your voice shook, but proceeded nonetheless. “They were holding you down.”

A crease appeared between his brows.

You continued before you could lose your nerve. “I’m not saying you’re a good person. I don’t know you.”

His eyes darkened with interest.

“But…” You glanced away for a moment. “I didn’t think it was right.”

The room fell quiet.

Only the crackling fire downstairs and the distant rustling of branches outside disturbed the silence.

Kol stared. You could feel it.

Feel those ancient eyes searching your face for something. Perhaps a lie, stupidity or even a hidden motive, but to no avail.

Instead, all he found was a frightened girl trying very hard not to cry.

Your thrumming pulse only intensified his hunger, but he found himself rather softened by your words rather than famished.

He couldn’t help it. He loved divine interventions, always had a knack for angels, but you had that touch of human to you no angel could compare to.

As the last resort to repel you through fear-mongering, he stepped closer and loomed over you like a sleep paralysis incarnate.

When your small hands reached to rest themselves on his chest, his stomach did a humiliating flip; god, you were beautifully innocent.

“I won’t hurt you, darling.” His whisper blew softly into your parted lips. You inhaled it like a promise. “Though hurting mortals has become rather common now.”

“But it shouldn’t be.” Your voice carried a heavy tone of pity, an emotion he’d normally abhor. “Thank you.” You whispered back, quiet and with genuine gratitude.

“I do believe you deserve to be filled in on this town’s deepest secrets.” He finally stood up, letting the oxygen that had thinned out in the proximity now return. You sighed with relief, closing your eyes for a moment before sitting up yourself.

Your tears couldn’t help but fall silently as he told you everything he knew from start to finish, guilt gnawing at your very core like maggots eating the flesh of a dead animal until only bones remain. You genuinely believed you were doing a good job protecting your younger siblings, only to be slapped in the face with something as cruel as reality.

You held your knees against your chest, fidgeting with one of his antiques in one hand as he familiarized you with the environment you yourself didn’t know you were amidst.

“Careful with that.”

Your hands instantly withdrew. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t say put it down.” His voice softened. “I merely said be careful.” After a moment, he continued. “It’s time you earn back the chunks of your memories they erased. Are you ready?”

You opened your mouth, letting out a shuddering breath, and closed it again. “I’m scared.”

“Knowledge is power, love. Surely you don’t want to stay oblivious for eternity, do you?” He scooted closer, his cold hand ascending to the nape of your neck, prickling your soft skin.

You sucked in a deep breath.

You suddenly found yourself sinking into a reverent hypnosis, your mind both numb and hyper-focused all at once, your irises widening alongside his.

“You now remember every memory your sister, Stefan, Damon or Caroline have compelled away.” He insisted, his tone leaving no place for defiance.

You blinked both in a placid and leisure manner, and snapped back to reality in a heartbeat.

Another tear fell from your eye as one particular memory returned like the last kid revealing itself at the end of hide and seek.

You inhaled, trying to pry the words out of your mouth, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Damon.” The name came out brokenly, raw against your throat. “He tried to kill me and— and Elena. She compelled me to forget!”

Your shoulders shook. Another memory surfaced.

Then another. Then another.

Every compulsion. Every lie. Every omission.

All of it crashed into you like waves determined to drag you beneath the surface. You curled inward, small and overwhelmingly fragile.

The antique clutched in your hands trembled violently. Before you could realize what was happening, another hand enclosed yours.

Large. Cold. Steady

The shaking stopped.

“Easy.” His voice cut through the storm inside your head as his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“They lied to me.” The words broke apart as they left your mouth. “Or maybe they wanted to protect me?”

Kol scoffed, a sharp sound, bitter and immediate. “Protection.” The word dripped with contempt. “Such a fascinating excuse people use when they wish to make choices for somebody else.”

Your eyes burned. “They thought they were helping.”

“Perhaps.” His hand slid upward, fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

The gesture felt oddly intimate.

Terrifyingly tender.

“But protection should not come at the expense of your choice.” His gaze softened a sliver, almost making it seem like you deluded it. “You deserved the truth.”

Something inside your chest cracked.

Not painfully, but relievingly, like a wound finally being cleaned.

“Shh, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” With an effortless tug, he pulled you closer until your bodies touched, your knees on each side of his hips, straddling him. You sniffled softly into the crook of his neck, warm, hopeless tears clinging to his skin.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you even realized what you were doing. One could say it was instinct, or even exhaustion.

Or maybe your world had simply fractured too many times in a single evening and your mind no longer possessed the strength to hold itself together.

Whatever the reason, you didn’t pull away when his arms settled around your waist.

The room remained steeped in silence, disturbed only by the distant groan of old wood settling somewhere within the house and the occasional whispers of wind against the windows.

Your forehead rested against the curve of his shoulder.

Safe wasn’t the right word, not when you knew exactly what he was. Not when the memory of crimson eyes and sharpened fangs still lingered fresh in your mind.

Yet neither was danger.

You felt his hand move, slowly smoothing over your back as though soothing a startled animal that might bolt at any moment.

Across from you, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting amber light across ancient furniture and older secrets. Shadows stretched across the walls, climbing over paintings and bookshelves alike until they reached the bed where the two of you sat suspended in an uneasy sort of peace.

When you finally lifted your head, your eyes met his.

Neither of you spoke.

There was something unexpectedly gentle in his expression, hidden beneath centuries of arrogance and cruelty, visible only for a fleeting moment before it vanished again.

His gaze drifted briefly to the tear tracks still staining your cheeks.

Then to your mouth. Then back to your eyes.

The corner of his lips twitched upward, the moment lingering, as fragile as glass.

Just as his eyes flickered down to your lips, unashamed and leaning in to take what is now his, Klaus’ voice filled the air, blaring and resonating from downstairs into the room. “Dear brother Kol, the Little-Rescue-Committee wants the girl back!”

You felt him tense up, an ebullition of angry vengeance boiling like hot water inside him. “It’s okay.” You murmured, reassuring and careful, before he lashed out. You took his hand in yours, standing up with him. “Let’s go.”

When the two of you descended the stairs, Kol led the path, asserting dominance in some way. You didn’t fight it— instead, you felt safe like that, secured behind him as he stared daggers at anybody or anything that came your way.

You saw Damon’s repulsed and bitter mien first, gaze snapping from the youngest Mikaelson to you. Then came Stefan standing right beside his brother, worried and sensible than his usual brooding self, then finally, Elena.

She looked like a mess, the whirlwind mind of hers perceptible in every way possible. Her demeanor appeared concerned with a twinge of guilt, as much as she tried to come off as commanding.

“He’s compelled her.” With the confidence — or arrogance — that is entirely Damon’s, he presumed.

“Like you three?” You, the oldest Gilbert, interfered instantly, your voice wavering but firm with a message. “Yeah, I know about that. I know about everything.”

“Aria— it’s not like that.” Elena tried before Kol stepped closer, his tone steady with a dangerous touch.

“Save it, you wench. I would have been ash if it weren’t for your sister.”

The nickname made you physically recoil; however, reminiscing about the atrocities the others had committed, the profanity quickly became the least of your worries at that moment.

“Well, this is getting rather amusing.” Klaus leaned against the wall, watching with no other emotions other than entertainment. “Go on, reprieve me of my tedious evening! I’m bored.”

Everybody ignored him, Elena’s voice cutting through the thick air. “Aria, you need to get away from Kol. He’s not who you think he is! He tried to amputate Jeremy—“

“Damon killed Jeremy, Elena.” That exact sentence let the room fall into silence, except for the sound of one particular hybrid, laughing under his breath. You continued. “Damon nearly killed me.”

“Aria…”

“I’m staying with Kol.” The admission hung in the air, sharp and as convicted as one could be. Elena’s eyes dropped to her sister’s hand, intertwined with the sociopathic vampire’s. The sight made Elena visibly pale.

Klaus wheezed, louder this time. “Goodness gracious, I’m in awe of this circus!”

“Shut up, Niklaus.” Kol averted his gaze to his brother, then back to the three standing on their porch. “You heard the lady. Now, if you don’t mind, I advise you leave as soon as possible before I change my mind and hunt down all three of you and the rest of your pathetic friends.”

What felt like eons finally passed when the ricocheting conversation ended, the squad having long given up despite Elena’s usual dedicated self and the two sycophants by her side doing everything they’re told to by her.

But they couldn’t reach you. Not this time.

In order to gain immense power, you must first never have it to begin with.

Fully convinced of this, Klaus prowls the night with an ego that is entirely his and with murderous stunts too carelessly executed to call a mission.

He, after all the abuse he had endured by the hands of his father, has now become the predator, turning minor inconveniences into a bloodbath when he feels like it. Snapping necks when his pawns dare to talk back, feeding one dry the moment his stomach grumbles.

What nags him for even a fleeting moment, he bites bone-deep until the nuisance learns its place— under him, paying homage, dead or alive.

Everyone is a means to an end eventually.

But it is not as such now when he crosses paths with his intellectual equal— a challenge, the one and only Countess Julia Stewart. A title bestowed through inheritance in the reigned monarchy the eighteen year old lives in.

She is the soon to be English queen as promised by her future husband James Williams, the King of England.

The year is 1761 and the mundane normalcy for Klaus— run, reside, and eventually be found by his bastard of a father, Mikael. And the cycle repeats. Despite having done this for nearly eight centuries by now, the adrenaline rush still hits him every time, his jagged heart whirring like a hummingbird when he had to bear hearing the cruel words — you are not my son.

In the midst of the tedious festival, the chandeliers above them hang like outgrown flowers on a tree, the visitors' voices buzzing through the palace. The kindled flames and lights imitating the warmth of a sun cast a cozy atmosphere, warm tones clinging to one's skin.

Sitting on a crimson chair next to the throne, she eyes the fine man nipping at the silver rim of his goblet, the amber liquid swirling as he talks with his older brother with intention and a smile too playful to look professional. Well, appears more like taunting, seeing as to how his brunette brother draws in a deep, exasperated sigh, despite his usually maintained composure.

"Julia, dear. Eyes straight forward." Her mother reminds her. 

She sighs, but complies.

It's the same repeating mantra she's heard the entire evening long, consisting full of reprimand whenever her mother catches her daughter staring at the handsome guy who has been a fair benefactor since the death of Julia’s father. Her father was known as the strict, traditional man that expected no less than perfection from everyone.

He was feared, thus respected. That’s what he used to tell Julia. Be charming enough to keep people around, but frightening enough to remind the masses of their place. Below them.

When he died, she became Countess. Her fragile authority was shamed upon as a young, unmarried woman, therefore the rush to marry the king a decade older than her. The funeral was held with despondent black clothing, people’s cries and half-ass condolences. Klaus Mikaelson, the known yet cryptic man, has been crucial support with his donations.

The female Stewart knows her mum doesn’t want to admit it, but they needed aid with the funeral expenses. To their convenience, the Mikaelsons were more than welcome to help.

Against Julia’s best will, her eyes shift to the male figure again. She memorizes his face by now. Blonde hair in loose waves, tied in a carelessly perfect, low ponytail. Plump lips. And eyes dangerously blue whenever he catches her gawking.

He’s looking at her now. Holding eye contact.

Her stomach does a small flip, but she doesn’t back down, nor does she look away. Only when a smirk tugs on his lips as a reaction to her stubbornness, do her eyes drift elsewhere. Not that it brings much, seeing as to how he is already making his way towards her.

He stands there in front her like a jester would before a performance, beckoning with his index finger to Widow Stewart. Klaus whispers something in her mum's ear that makes her look at her daughter with a curt nod.

"Julia, my dear. Lord Klaus would like a brief tour around the estate, for accommodating purposes only." Her mother informs in a requesting manner, but Julia knows she wouldn't accept any rebuttals anyway. She stands up from her chair and descends the two stairs, clearing her path with a tug of her dress.

"Hello, love." He takes her hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. "Klaus Mikaelson at your service."

She breathes deeply, vexation etched lightly on her face. "Countess Julia Stewart. Call me Julia, my lord." It takes a small amount of effort to pull her hand away from his grasp, but not an impossible amount. "And with all due respect, I am the one at your service. Follow me." The warning glare she receives from her mother goes unbothered as she walks outside, Klaus falling into step beside her with an unwavering smile.

When the cool air swallows them whole, the hybrid talks again. "I'd be careful with a tongue so sharp, you could cut yourself with it, love."

"Who gave you permission to speak to me in such a bold manner?” She interjects almost immediately, all pretenses dropped. “I am the soon to be queen of England."

"Do not pretend you cannot await it, love. I see the long faces you pull at the mention of the despotic king you are soon to be wed with."

"I am here to show you around, not to humor you with the tragic turn of events that is my life. Now, if you would excuse yourself—" Just as she is about to go further into the night tour, she is halted by a sudden clasp of cold hands around her wrist.

"I marvel at your fire, really." He nods to his admission, his eyes zeroing in on her with an intensity meant to see through her. "So, if I shall excuse myself, I will. Condolences to your father has been sent, I know what it’s like to lose someone.” He states, sounding rather disingenuous as though he were hiding something deeper behind the revelation.

She fights back an eye roll, yet clicks her teeth.“Condolences have been sent by half the town square,” His grasp falls gently from her wrist, letting her lead the way. “perhaps you are not remotely as original as you think you are.”

At that, he smiles a genuine smile, dimples adorning his cheeks. “Oh, but you’re mistaken. I am original.”

“Well, rest assured that even if you did send it with sincerity, it does not interest me in the slightest. My father was not a man worthy of grief.”

The door creaks a loud cry when she opens it, the path leading downstairs into a dark abyss. Down the pathway, dust lingers in the air along with echoes that doesn't belong to the living, a cool breeze hugging them both.

“Spooky.” He comments, the British accent just sliding from the edge of his lips like velvet.

“It is my father’s collectives.”

"So why not burn it to the ground if you carried such a paternal baggage?"

"Because it could be to good use." She explains vaguely. He falls into step behind her, following her trail. "You see, my father always used to tell me to look before I leap. To not get close to the very people I'm acquainted with for there could always be a chance I don't know them at all."

"Forgive my improprieties," Klaus lets out a low, derisive huff of laughter "but your father had always been quite dramatic." His tone carries a deeper octave, meant to convince her of the same thought.

"He was right." She objects in a stern manner, grabbing a lantern from the spotty windowsill.

Klaus, the hybrid with super hearing, can't help but direct his attention to her adorable, thrumming heart. If she didn't have the capability to display such a jarring state, a composed mien despite the nerve bundle building up inside her, he wouldn't be so intrigued by what might come next.

The lantern flickered for a moment as a symbol for the anticipation that gnawed at the brunette girl's guts, Klaus’ eyes narrowing as she opens her mouth just to clam up again. Then, she admits—

"I know."

He blinks. "Little vague."

"About you." She breathes out as the lantern casts dramatic shadows on her face, changing its angle with every spasm. "I know what you are."

Her lips stay parted, drawing in deep breaths even as he watches the tremor that has long reached her fingertips. She doesn't dare look at him, only when he steps closer, looming over her like a shadow. Regardless of such, she stands her ground, exhaling into the cold air and repeating her mother's mantra. Eyes straight forward, Julia.

With the tip of his index, he tilts her head until she is facing him, sinking no other way but in the blue pools that are his irises. "Pray tell, love, was that smart of you to disclose?"

"I," she swallows a thick chunk of saliva, clasping her lips shut. "I can surmise a libel."

"Surmise," he repeats back to her as a reminder. "Meaning you would suppose that something is true without having evidence to confirm it."

"What makes you think I don't obtain evidence?"

"Because dead people do not obtain anything." He muses with a menacing, cozy smile, and because he can see her building up into proper fear, he adds pressure on her chin.

"Perhaps," he traces her jaw with a jarring, soft touch. "such foolishness is inherited from your father."

He searches her eyes for any sign of understanding. The tug of his malicious smirk acts as a catalyst that compels her to grasp the gravity of the situation and at her quick realization, his smile broadens lazily.

“You murdered my father.”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to.

Silence alone has always provided more than words could, Julia believes, and now she wonders if she regrets anything before her dad died.

That being said, she racks her brain trying to think which memory lane normal children would hop scotch down.

Would it be the one where her father slapped her around for not meeting his expectations?

Or likely the memory lane, she ponders, where he labeled her as a harlot for reciprocating a brief smile a man had flashed at her?

She should be scared. Hell, she should be furious, yet she is incapable of finding even a twinge of said sentiments. “Why?”

“Clairvoyance has always been my strongest suit, dove. Fortunately, you did not bother putting effort in hiding your anguish.” With a deep breath, he steps closer, then shifts his eyes from the floor back to her pained eyes. “I’ve done you a favor.”

“You cannot just…” a tear, not particularly one from somber, falls from her eye, chin wobbling before she clams up again. “Thank you.”

“Ah, enough with the gratitude. I mostly did it for my own pleasure. My father,” He purses his lips before continuing. “was similiar to yours.”

“High expectations?”

“Oh, brutal.” He laughs a genuine guffaw, though at the very core, she notes, his pain gnaws at the same scar over and over again. She would know.

“He abhorred me even more when he found out what I was.” The atmosphere is conquered by a buzzing sound she hasn’t heard before, the air taking over a cooler one. Because the climate of gloom has now grasped her, he adds— “A beast.”

A sad smile reaches her lips. “Harlot, my father used to call me.”

“Are you?”

“The same way you’re a beast.” She sniffles and at his physical recoil, the uncertainty of whether she believes the label or not, she sinks her head slightly and replies. “No, my lord.”

He nods slowly, stepping an inch closer. His hand find its way to the crook of her neck, holding it in place. With his thumb, he tilts her head, purring. “Judging by your response, you’re surely not upset with me, are you?”

A second passes. Her lips stay sealed.

Then, a shook of her head.

He smiles, a lazy thing, and praises. “Splendid. Your heart is hammering.”

The provocative add-on does nothing to help her whirring heart calm down, the proximity being the main factor for such inconvenience.

“It’s not just fear though, is it?” He adds.

He knows. Of course he knows, what else should she expect? Someone with high senses could tell whether the spike in her blood came from terror or something else entirely.

“This is highly inappropriate, my lord.” But her body betrays her when she takes his hand, opting to take it off her flushed skin to no avail. Not that he forces himself upon her, quite on the contrary, she doesn’t resist it. Her hands stay there, over his, warm and stuck.

She tries again. “I am soon to be espoused.”

“I know.”

“Then stop this nonsense.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Say the word.”

Silence stretches like space, a near perfect vacuum. Once he confirms that none of her following words contain any refusal, he dives in— deep. His lips clash with hers, a picture frame of her father falling to the ground as he pushes her against the wall.

What starts as a brutal advance now transforms into a slow, deep, endless motion, finding her tongue even as she attempts to dominate back.

Adorable, if not ineffective.

Her hands find his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, something to hold onto in case her knees buckle. She can’t trust her own fragility.

And she is proven not to do so as his knee pries open her thighs, pressing against her most intimate area and evokes a shuddering whimper out of her.

“One more sound like that, sweetheart.” He coaxes, then circles her clit with his knee.

Her knees buckle, a low, uneven growl scraping against her throat. Klaus smells the desperation that she can’t form with her own words and decides to throw her legs around his hips, pressing his prominent bulge against the wet spot.

“One more.” He whispers, his lips brushing against her ear. He grinds, hard and short to wring another sweet noise.

“Klaus!” she breathes out a moan, her face etched with pure pleasure.

“Good girl,” He coos. “Just like that.”

Another moan escapes her, more erotic than the previous one, the sound of it alone echoing through Klaus’ entire system.

He doesn’t hesitate.

With a quick swift, he rips her panties open underneath her dress, her pussy exposed helplessly to the cold air. Her breath hitches violently, wide eyes looking up at him.

His fingers finds her state to be slick, wet and criminally sexy. He doesn’t push inside yet, instead teasing the rim, fingers running through the wet folds.

She shudders, her thighs trembling even at such a small gesture. “Gentle.” She whispers, nearly imploring.

“Gentle?” He sing songs, sympathetic in a mocking manner. “You’re untouched, are you not?”

She nods, a sheepish action that paints her face in a deep crimson. “I have never done this before.” She murmurs, her voice raw and quiet.

This just makes it all the more sweeter for Klaus. Untouched, but fiery. She is basically asking to be unraveled, beckoning the big bad hybrid to hunt and eat her alive.

“Not to worry, love. I will go gentle. Slow.” He leans into her ear again. “Deep.”

She whimpers at his dark sweet whispers alone before he pushes inside with his finger, her breath catching somewhere between her chest and throat.

Another finger.

She’s tensing up, her walls gripping his fingers like nothing before. He scissors her pussy to help it accommodate to the unfamiliar fullness, pressing spots she never could before.

Once he’s certain she’s enjoying it, as confirmed by the flutter of her walls and juice that drips down his hand, he mimics the motion of sex, pushing in and out.

Her legs tightens around his hip, seeking for more pressure, more friction. Her hips buckle against his fingers, back arching deeply. “More.” She whimpers softly.

“Desperate little thing.” His breath fans against her throat, pebbling her skin, piercing enough to draw blood. The air leaves her lungs and he adds— “Beg.” He pulls back enough to look into her eyes, wide and pleading, her eyelashes clumpy with tears coaxed from ecstasy. “Go on, beg for it, love.”

“Please.” She whines, the blood on her neck untouched and oozing out like supper in preparation.

The attempt is nearly laughable, but he contains himself, flashing only a mean smirk.“Come on, sweetheart, I know you can do better than that.”

“Please, give me more, my lord. I—I’d do anything you please.” The eagerness spills like glaze out of her lips, parted as though she was waiting — yearning — for his lips to meet hers like water splashes against rock, dancing with her tongue in a heated tango.

His large hands hugs her ribs, his thumbs stroking just under her breasts. Her fingers curl tighter against his chest, trying to pull him impossibly closer. He lets her.

He kisses her like there’s all the time left in the world, which is mainly true on his side, and grinds against her pussy with a cruel slowness that draws her moans into the hallow room, only to swallow her noises again with his mouth.

Her thighs tightens its grip around him, humping him like a cat in heat before eliciting a low growl from the hybrid. He doesn’t dive in for a gentle smooch anymore, instead licking the warm, long forgotten liquid bleeding out the two punctures of her neck all the way back to its place.

He sinks his fangs into the same points again, precise and fast.

“Ah!” She mewls, a whiny moan escaping her lips as he chuckles against her delicate skin, sending vibrations down her bone marrow. “Can you please…”

Klaus hums, still leaving wet trails, speaking against her skin. “Mhm, go on, love, tell me exactly what you need. I have had enough time to learn how to perfect it.” He traces a circular pattern on her thigh, almost intimate instead of purely physical on his part.

“I want your cock.” She whispers brokenly, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Inside me.”

He stops for a moment, then continues to circle her skin. “Look at me.” He commands, low and steady. She surrenders, reluctantly, but does it. “Now say it again.”

“I…” her heart pounds like gunshots to his ear. “I want your cock… inside me.”

“Say no less, love.”

The cotton of his pants nearly tears in his hand when he pulls it down, his girth springing free— veins in strange patterns with a slight curve, perfect for hitting the g spot as if it was carved for that purpose entirely.

Despite her darling insistence to go gentle, the entry is brutal. Her cry rives free, raw and high.

“Shh, quiet now.” He croons like a father, his pace turning unrelenting and primal. “Take it.”

She makes a face at the sudden change from tenderness to raw, animalistic energy. Her mind, a whirlwind and unable to function, cannot tell which side she prefers, eyes rolling back in more pain than pleasure that comes with the penetration.

“No, it hurts!” Her tears, pretty and delicious, cling to her skin, trickles down to mix with her blood, filtering the mahogany into a pink stream.

In a breath, the Mikaelson plunges his fangs into the fusion like a starving man, savoring copper and salt like fine wine.

The renewed energy heightens his urges, fucking her against the wall like she’s a sex doll, a whore, a harlot— the same thing her father used to call her.

Perhaps he was right.

“Klaus!” She struggles against him with futility, but his grip is iron, bruises blooming under his touch.

“Not now, princess.”

Her legs flail helplessly behind him, attempting to close her legs to no avail. He digs in buried and brutally crushing, wringing out any sounds he pleases. Guttural cries, whiny mewls, toe-curling groans.

With a final grunt, he cream-pies her, deep and filling with a bitter aftertaste. Blood mixes with his cum, leaving her trembling and weeping like a beautiful girl would— brokenly, absolutely demolished.

He pulls back enough to admire his artwork, grinning cruelly. “Ravishing.”

Then, he lets go, his touch only a ghost now. She slumps onto the floor like cutting off the strings of a marionette, vulnerable and pathetic.

“Now, about that libel.” He kneels down and wraps his hand around her throat, the single touch enough to make her heart flutter.

The lack of self-dignity — he thinks, laughing derisively inside.

“As I’ve said. Dead people don’t obtain anything,” he squeezes harder until her face turns red and terrorized, her breathing hoarse with short intakes. “and you, my love, do not obtain any evidence.”

Snap.

He stands up, watching her lifeless body with an unreadable expression, her head twisted in an ugly angle.

“Disappointing.”

And again, he bit the nuisance bone-deep until she learned her place— below him, paying homage.