moo

You’d been dating him for weeks now, and while there’d been kisses, he hadn’t once pushed further. Ever the gentleman.

Which was the problem. Because you were going insane, and his hands were playing a big part kn it. The way they brushed the small of your back, the way they held the edge of your chin when he kissed you… even the way they turned the pages of his damn journals. You could have made the first move but you were slightly intimidated and didn’t want it to feel forced.

You were seated in the library tonight, legs curled up on the sofa, pretending to read while he played piano. You looked up from time to time, having to swallow as you saw his hands and the way they moved over the keys. The veins…oh god those veins. Your heart fluttered like the one of a teenage girl watching her high school crush. You felt his eyes on you before you heard him approach.

“You’re distracted,” he said with his low voice.

“I’m reading,” you replied, totally unconvincing.

He smirked. “You’ve been stuck on the same page for ten minutes.”

You avoided his gaze, not trusting your own face to hide the truth. His footsteps were soft, deliberate, and then he was standing beside you offering you a glass of wine.

As you reached to take it his fingers touched yours and you had to swallow an image of his hand wrapped around your throat suddenly in your head.

His eyes dropped first to your lips, then to your hand still holding the wine. “May I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you said, a little too fast. “Why do you always look away when I touch you?” he asked softly. "I...I do not," you whispered looking away

“You do. Every time.”

You stared into the glass, your pulse embarrassingly loud. “It’s… distracting.” He leaned down slightly, his voice a whisper against your cheek. “What exactly do you find distracting, sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes and sighed, your cheeks heating up and you shivered as he ran his thumb over your lower lip. "Your...hands," you whispered as if you had shared a long kept family secret.

“I see,” he said, voice velvet-smooth. “That’s why you flinch. Because you’re imagining what I might do with them.”

You couldn’t speak.

He reached out, trailing one finger slowly down your throat. “You could’ve just told me,” he said quietly. “But I must confess that I like watching you squirm.” Your breath left your lungs in a rush, “What do you want me to do with my fingers?”

Your mouth went dry. You opened it, then shut it again, because the truth burned hot behind your lips, too humiliating to say aloud. But Elijah didn’t move. He was just listening and that made you even crazier. His warm and composed eyes and his crooked smile encouraging you to say it. And God, you wanted to.

“I…” Your voice cracked, “I want them…”

“Say it,” he coaxed, gently. “There’s no need for shame, darling. Not with me.”

Your cheeks burned as you whispered, “I want them around my throat.”

He stilled. The silence that followed was heavy but not judgmental, it just seemed electric. His hand didn’t move right away. He studied you for a long, measured second, and when he finally spoke, his voice was lower than ever.

“You should be very certain when you ask me for something like that.” “I am,” you whispered, breath trembling. “I’ve thought about it… too many times.”

A long pause.

Then, finally, he brought his hand to your throat, slowly, reverently and rested it there. No pressure. Just the presence of it. His fingers curved along your neck like they belonged there, thumb brushing your jaw, his palm warm against your skin. Your pulse raced beneath his touch. "Shh, feel it," he whispered

And then, very gently, he tightened his grip.

His hand tightened just slightly around your throat, firm but not rough it was a promise more than a threat. Your breath hitched as your head started to feel light from the lack of air. You love it. You loved the way he looked at you as if you were something precious.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Trembling from slowly choking on my hand.” You were slowly getting dizzy and he released you letting you gasp for air. He pulled you closer your mouths connecting. You groaned against him and before you could overthink it, your own hand moved.

You reached up, shy but determined, and took his other hand and guided it down, slowly, over the curve of your chest. His palm dragged over the fabric of your shirt, and his brow arched slightly, almost amused, but he let you lead.

“This,” you breathed. “I want… more of this.”

“You want more of my hands.” It wasn’t a question. It was a confirmation, spoken like a man who already knew the answer.

You nodded. “I think about them all the time.”

His hand paused over your breast, fingers resting lightly. “Then don’t just think,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric, just enough to make your hips twitch. “Feel.”

Your lips parted, breath shaky as he dragged that hand lower watching you, not his hand, as he moved. He leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I’ll give you everything you want, sweetheart,” he whispered, “but only if you tell me. Use your words.”

Your hand curled around his wrist, guiding him lower, over your hip, your inner thigh.

And softly, barely audible, you whispered, “Please, Elijah…”

You guided his hand lower until his fingers brushed over the heat between your thighs. Even through the thin fabric, it was obvious how badly you wanted this. Wanted him.

Elijah groaned low in his throat his control obviously starting to slip.

“God,” he muttered, voice suddenly thick. His hand cupped you gently, palm warm, and he let it linger, just feeling the way your hips arched into him, the quiet desperation in every movement. “So warm. You’re already soaked through.”

You whimpered again, your hand still around his wrist wanting to guide him further, guide him deeper, but he didn’t move. Not yet. His voice dipped lower, nearly a growl.

“Tell me something.”

You blinked up at him, pulse in your throat still pounding under his grip.

“Do you touch yourself at night,” he asked softly, “thinking about my hands?” He flexed his fingers just slightly between your legs. “About them wrapped around your throat, or buried between your thighs?”

You inhaled sharply, ashamed at how easily the answer threatened to spill from your lips.

He leaned closer, brushing his mouth along your cheek without kissing you. Just letting his breath whisper over your skin.

“Do you choke yourself,” he asked, “wishing it was me?”

You closed your eyes, and whispered, “Yes.”

He stilled again. You could feel the weight of your confession land in the space between you, crackling like fire.Then his grip on your throat shifted still gentle, but more possessive now. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Show me how you do it,” he said quietly. “Show me what you do when you’re alone.”

Your hand trembled as you reached down, fingers brushing his. He didn’t move, just let you take control, even though you both knew who truly held it.

You swallowed. “I usually… start here,” you whispered, guiding his hand a fraction lower.

His eyes never left your face.

You pressed your thighs together slightly, the friction making you gasp, and when your fingers curled tighter around his wrist, he finally let his breath hitch.

“Do you imagine I’m watching you?” he asked, voice velvet and sin. “Or do you imagine I’m the one doing it to you?”

Your answer was a broken moan, "Both," you whispered before he finally dragged your undergarments down your legs.

Elijah smirked as he slowly inserted a finger, his thumb circling over your clit again and again. You whimpered and bucked your hips up into his hand. His finger was a lot thicker than yours and you loved the way it filled you. As he started to move you groaned loudly watching him inserting a second one. "Hm, how am I even supposed to fit my cock into you?," he whispered, "You are so tight, such a naughty girl and still so tight."´

Your legs were trembling while his fingers moved with such devastating precision curling deep, stroking that spot that made your vision blur, while his thumb never stopped circling your clit in slow, tight spirals. It was unbearable. It was perfect.

“Elijah,” you gasped, voice cracking.

He exhaled a soft laugh against your ear, voice low and reverent. “That’s it, sweetheart… You’re close, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hips lifting, chasing every movement of his hand. His free arm curled behind your back, holding you in place as you writhed beneath him, and his fingers didn’t falter.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Falling apart for me like this. You’re so beautiful when you’re desperate.”

Your mouth opened in a silent cry as your body began to tighten, all that heat and pressure building toward something uncontrollable. You were so close it hurt.

“Let go,” Elijah whispered, his grip on your throat turning possessive, his fingers working deeper inside you. “Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart.”

That was it. Your body broke open around his hand, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, it was sharp and consuming and unstoppable. You cried out his name, voice wrecked and raw, as you clenched around his fingers, thighs shaking, your back arching helplessly off the couch.

He held you through it while never looking away. Watching every tremble, every breathless gasp, every flutter of your lashes as your orgasm ripped through you like a confession.

When you finally collapsed back into the cushions, dazed and trembling, Elijah withdrew his hand slowly, like your orgasm was a gift you had given him.

“Good girl,” he whispered, brushing his fingers tenderly along your thigh. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

You fell back onto the couch, your breath still hitched, legs weak beneath him, heart pounding like a frantic drum. Elijah’s fingers finally slipped from your throat but the lingering warmth of his touch felt like fire beneath your skin. You gasped, finally able to breathe fully again, only to find his eyes glinting with that mischievous spark.

He chuckled low, a sound full of both amusement and something darker. “Oh love I thought that tonight I might finally have you,” he said, voice teasing but firm. “But seems like you need to recover from this first.”

You blinked up at him, breathless and confused.

Elijah leaned down, brushing his lips softly against your temple before pulling back just enough to smirk. “If I took you to bed now, you’d be too exhausted to give me what I deserve.”

You whimpered softly, in protest “So… what do I do?”

“Rest,” he whispered, his hand tangling in your hair, thumb stroking your cheek slowly. “And when you’re ready… you come find me. Because this is only the beginning, darling.”

———————

When you picked your daughter up from school, you instantly knew that something was wrong. Rory was usually very bubbly and outspoken, excited to tell you all about her day but today, she was silent, leaning her head on the window as you drove home.

You really knew something was wrong when she instantly dropped her bookbag and ran to her room the second you stepped inside your apartment.

Being a single mother was hard, you had Rory when you were relatively young with your now ex-boyfriend. He would pop up every once in a while to say hi but he was never a constant in your or your daughter's life. It had also made dating hard, most men would run the second you mentioned your child, it was hard to find one that wouldn’t.

Still, your daughter always comes first which is why you drop your phone on the couch, ignoring the message from Elijah (a man you had been talking to) so you can follow Rory to her room.

You stand in the doorway for a moment before moving to sit on the edge of her bed. Rory had her face buried in her pillow, shaking as she sobbed. She doesn’t react when the bed dips from your weight but she does react when you begin to rub her back. She tenses up before beginning to sob harder.

Suddenly she turns and sits up, throwing herself into your arms, “Mama…”

You shush her softly, still rubbing her back as she cries. Once she mostly calms down you pull back, brushing some of her hair from her face while she hiccups.

“What happened, baby?” you ask softly.

“Why don’t I have a daddy?” she asks, eyes glimmering with tears.

You frown, “Sweetie, you do, he’s just… he’s not… around… much… you know this… sometimes you get to go out to eat with him… remember?”

Rory sniffles, rubbing at her eyes, “Everybody else has a daddy around! Why don’t I get one?”

“Rory…” you say quietly but she interrupts you, “Why can’t Mr. Elijah be my daddy?”

So maybe Elijah was more than just ‘a man you had been talking to’. You had been seeing Elijah for a little over a year, he had never been bothered by Rory, in fact, he’s quite good with her. The seemingly stoic man would play dress up and attend tea parties every time your daughter asked. He always made an effort to accommodate for her as well, always willing to adapt plans at the last minute. He understood and accepted the fact that the two of you were a package deal.

Your face flushes at the mention of Elijah, because you really did like him and you really hoped that your relationship could continue to bloom.

Pulling Rory back into a tight hug, you sigh, “Baby, what brought this up?”

She doesn’t answer, only nuzzling further into neck. You decide not to push her, allowing her to cling onto you until she falls asleep. It was the weekend so you weren’t too worried about messing up her sleep schedule. Carefully, you pull her off of you and tuck her into bed before going back to the living room.

On your way, you pick up her backpack, opening it to check her homework folder when something catches your eye. It’s a flyer from the school, advertising the daddy daughter dance next month. You let out a sigh as you connect the dots, realizing why your daughter was so upset.

A week had passed since the initial incident and Rory had mostly moved on from it. Still, you could tell she was distraught about it so you decided you were going to make a tough call. Literally.

Rory was still at school while you stood in the kitchen next to Elijah, with your phone in your shaking hand. Reluctantly, you dial your ex's number. You had thought about asking Elijah to take Rory, it was her first thought after all, and even though he clearly loves the girl and cares for her, you didn’t want to risk burdening him.

After the third ring Jonathan answered, “Who is this?”

You let out a sigh, trying your best to not let your voice shake, “It’s Y/N.”

“What do you want?” he asks, his tone clearly annoyed.

You stand up straighter even though he can’t see you, clearing your throat, “Rory has a dance…”

“So?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh, “It’s a daddy daughter dance… I’m calling to ask if you’d take her… so she isn’t… excluded…”

There’s silence for a moment and you feel rage beginning to bubble up in you but just as you’re about to yell at him he answers, “When is it?”

“It’s on the 30th, three weeks away at 6pm.”

Jonathan hums, “Alright, I’ll be there- and I'll even take her out to eat before, that way I can get the court mandated, monthly dinner out of the way at the same time.”

You decide it best to bite your tongue, your daughter was the sweetest little girl you ever could have asked for, you never understood how Jonathan couldn’t love her- why he didn’t want to spend time with her. He hardly follows the custody agreement, never really wanting to see her but anything you needed to get his permission for- like a small trip to the beach, he would not grant, just to upset you and keep a sense of control over you and your daughter.

Instead, you thank him, not wanting to be on the phone any longer. When you hung up, Elijah began to rub your back, pulling you to his chest to kiss your forehead.

And when your daughter got home, she was ecstatic to hear that her father would be taking her to the dance, she immediately asked to go dress shopping.

Working as a server, you weren’t super wealthy and had no choice but to set a limit on the amount you could spend on a dress for her. Unfortunately, Rory fell in love with a gorgeous, flowery, blue dress that was way out of the budget. Fortunately, Elijah was there, and he insisted on paying, even before Rory had picked out a dress outside of what you could afford. You told him that you’d pay him back but he refused.

“Seeing Rory’s little face light up is more than enough payment.”

Everything was going great until the night of the dance came. The dance didn’t start until 6pm but Johnathan said that he’d be there at 4pm to take her out to eat but he never showed up and now he wasn’t answering his phone.

Rory was sitting at the table, watching the clock that she had just learned how to read in school with a sad expression on her face.

You turn away from her, walking down the hall with your phone pressed to your ear, practically growling into the phone as you leave another voicemail, “Jonathan. This is the seventh time I’ve called you. It’s 4:30, where the hell are you?!”

When you walk back into the room, Rory immediately looks up at you. “Dad’s not coming, is he?”

You sigh, setting your phone on the counter, crouching in front of her, “I’m so sorry, baby,” you hold her hands in yours and smile sadly.

Just as the first tear is about to fall from her eyes, the doorbell rings, making Rory perk up, assuming it was her father. You, on the other hand, had a feeling that it wasn’t.

And it wasn’t. Rory flung open the door just as you appeared behind her, revealing Elijah, dressed in a fancy suit as he always was.

Rory let out a little sigh, “Oh, it’s you.”

Elijah frowns, crouching down in front of her, “You, Rory, should be at your favorite diner, eating fried mozzarella sticks like the picky child you are.”

You had invited Elijah over for a date night, you didn’t often get time alone together and you thought the dance would be the perfect opportunity to have a few hours to yourself.

“He… he’s not coming, I don’t think…” Rory began to rock back and forth on her heels, looking at the floor.

“Well, I think, he just needs a little reminder,” Elijah responds, standing up and for a moment, just a moment, you could have sworn you saw the veins beneath his eyes, ripple.

“Really?” Rory grins.

You take a step forward and press a kiss to the corner of Elijah’s mouth, you whisper, “Elijah… I, he’s probably drunk… you’re not going to be able to convince him…”

He hums, “Trust me, Darling, I can be very persuasive… and if not, I have another plan,” he then turns to your daughter, “just be ready Rory, you will be going to that dance.”

Elijah knocked on the door and straightened out his cufflinks, moments later it swung open to reveal Jonathan, in only his boxers, clearly not ready to go anywhere.

Jonathan looks Elijah up and down, “Did you miss the- the no soliciting sign?” his speech was slurred, a clear sign that he had been drinking.

Elijah raises a brow, “I am not here to sell you anything, I am here to tell you that you made a previous commitment to your daughter, Rory.”

“Oh hell,” Jonathan scoffs, “Let me- let me guess, you’re… you’re the whores new guy? She sent you here to what? Scare me?”

Elijah’s jaw clenches before he lets out a breath. He wanted nothing more than to grab the drunk man and put the fear of God into him, maybe even kill him. But alas, he could not, Jonathan still stood safely in the doorway of his home that Elijah had not been invited into.

“The stupid little bitch is fine… no dance, she’ll cry for a day before she forgets and moves on… she’s just a dumb kid…”

It would only take one toe out the door, Elijah told himself, only one drunken move out the door and I could strangle him.

Which is exactly what would happen.

It seemed that Elijah’s lack of response angered Jonathan, the drunken man leaned forward, his hand curling around the door frame and that was all Elijah needed. In a second, he had the man pinned to the side of the house by his throat.

Jonathan’s legs dangle as he desperately tries to touch the ground, gasping for breath.

Elijah had come here to convince Jonathan to go to the dance but the way he spoke about you, about your daughter, gave him a new purpose.

“You’re going to relinquish custody of Rory, granting Y/N full custody. And afterwards, you’ll never bother either of them even again…” Elijah releases his grip a bit, allowing Johnathan to slide down the wall.

The drunken man is horrified, “I’ll… I’ll go to the cops!”

“You won’t,” Elijah grins, pupils dilating.

When Elijah returned back to your home, there were only thirty minutes left before the dance started. Rory was sitting on the counter when he walked through the door, carrying a little bouquet of blue and white flowers.

“M’lady,” he greets you, before approaching Rory, holding the flowers out for her to take, “These are for you, sweet pea.”

Rory smiles and throws herself into his arms, he picks her up with ease, holding her on his hip.

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make him come… but I can take you, if you’d like… and if that’s okay with your mother…”

You smile softly, “Of course that’s okay with me.”

Rory clutches the flowers to her chest, “I wanted you to take me in the first place…”

Elijah looks at you, raising a brow, “Is that so?”

You sigh, “I didn’t want you to feel obligated…”

He chuckles, walking over to press a kiss to your forehead, “I never feel obligated when it comes to my favorite girls,” he turns his head to look at Rory, who he’s still holding, “Now we must go. There’s a dance waiting for us.”

“Wait wait!” you call out just as they’re about to reach the door, “I need a picture.”

After the dance, Elijah would take Rory to her favorite restaurant where she would eat her fried mozzarella sticks.

And days later, you received a letter in the mail from Jonathan’s lawyer, declaring he wanted to relinquish his custody rights, granting you full custody.

Finally, you could begin your new life with your daughter and your lover.

———————

You groan in frustration and throw your makeup brushes down, dropping your head onto your vanity table.

Elijah, who was sitting on the chair in the corner of your shared room, reading, looks up from his book, “Darling? What’s wrong?” he’s off of the chair and at your side in a matter of seconds.

You pick your head up from the table and look up at your fiancé, “This is just so frustrating! These stupid silicone molds are nothing like real skin!” you scoff, looking back at the table.

Elijah smirks, “So silicone is nothing like the real thing?”

“Yes, Elijah! That’s what I just said!”

“So… the real thing is better?”

“Am I speaking one of the two languages you don’t speak? Yes! I just said that!” you exclaim, looking back up at him.

His grin widens, “Silicone doesn’t compare to—“

“Elijah!” you scoff, slapping his arm as you finally catch on to what he’s doing.

He laughs, “My apologies, dear, I couldn’t help it.”

You scoff, “You’re a dick.”

“Ah, but you like my ‘dick’…” he pauses for a moment, “It’s certainly better than silicone.”

“Elijah,” you groan, dropping your head back onto the table, “you’ve been hanging around Kol too much,” you mumble into your arm.

“Kol?” he questions, “You talk about male genitalia with my little brother? I don’t know how to feel about that…”

You lift your head up a bit to glare at him and he chuckles again, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to learn this new technique and practice for my exam but the silicone face pieces are making it so difficult, it just won’t work the right way because it’s not skin!”

“So you need a model?”

You sigh, nodding, “And Rebekah isn’t here for me to practice on! She’s off galavanting around with Marcel, doing God knows what that I don’t want to think about!”

Elijah hums in thought before shrugging, “You could practice on me?”

“Really?” you beam, “You’d let me?”

“As long as you promise not to stab my eye out, I think we’ll be fine.”

You squeal, standing up from your chair, pushing Elijah to sit down and he does, man-spreading. You gather all of your supplies and Elijah watches you intently, happy to see you in your element.

“Okay, let’s get started…” you begin but Elijah raises a finger, making you trail off.

With dramatic flair, he pulls out his handkerchief and tucks it into his shirt as if he was about to eat a messy dinner.

You roll your eyes and he smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing, “What? I love you, truly, but this suit was nine thousand dollars… I don’t want it stained.”

You chuckle and step closer so you’re standing in between his legs, “Are you sure this isn’t going to fracture your masculinity?” you tease.

He laughs, resting his hands on your hips, “Dear, you forget I’m over a thousand years old, this isn’t the first time I’ve worn makeup.”

“I wish there were cameras back then,“ you whine, “I’d have loved to see you all ‘dolled up’,” you quote Elijah, he would always refer to you getting dressed up as getting dolled up.

“Maybe Nik has some old paintings…” you tap your finger to your chin, grinning when he groans and rolls his eyes.

After a bit of teasing, you finally begin your work, trying not to get too distracted by the way Elijah was rubbing up and down your hips. He smiles at you knowingly, making you scowl. Deciding two can play at that game, you straddle his lap, causing his eyes to momentarily widen.

“I hope you don’t sit on all of your clients like this…” he muses.

You giggle, “Only the really pretty ones,” you use the brush you were holding to boop his nose.

He hums, moving his hands to rub up and down your back as you do his eyebrows. When he realizes you’re no longer being affected by his teasing he lowers his hands until they reach the curve of your ass and squeezes.

You immediately halt your movements and lean back, smacking his shoulder, “Behave ,” you hiss.

“I am being a perfect gentleman.”

“More like a perfect menace.”

Finally, you get to the eyes. You dip your eyeshadow brush into the brown, tapping it against the pallet before placing it on Elijah’s eyelid.

“Brown?” he questions.

You hum, “Simple yet elegant, a classic.”

When you finish his eyes you uncap a red lipstick, “And a red lip, classic and bold.”

You finish applying the color to his lips, giggling at the way he had his lips puckered. You shriek when he leans forward, grabbing your face and placing kisses all over just like you do to him, leaving red lip marks behind. He finishes his onslaught of kisses by placing one on your lips.

He pulls back, admiring his work and you narrow your eyes, using your fingers to wipe away the smudged lipstick around his mouth.

After fixing his lipstick, you grab your hand held mirror to show him the final look.

“I look absolutely fabulous, you did fantastic sweetheart.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

You smile, happily, and hop off his lap much to his surprise, “Stay there! I need to get my phone so I can take a picture for my portfolio.”

You’re gone before he can even protest, practically bouncing down the stairs. You see Klaus and Hope on the staircase, you had completely forgotten they had gone out shopping. Little Hope was practically buried in shopping bags.

“Auntie Y/N!! Look at all my stuff!!”

“What on earth happened to your face…?” Klaus trails off, referring to the kiss marks, you ignore him, addressing Hope.

“In a second, honey, I promise!” you pluck a few of the bags out of her arms, revealing her face, “I have to get my phone, I need to get a picture of Elijah!” you continue down the stairs.

“Elijah?” Klaus raises a brow, stopping in his spot on the steps, “Is the noble stag actually smiling for once in his immortal life?”

“No? Yes? Maybe!” you exclaim, “It’s for my portfolio!” you pass Klaus, grabbing a few more bags from Hope and she rushes up the stairs after you.

When she sees Elijah, she bursts into a fit of giggles, “Uncle ‘Lijah! You look pretty!”

Elijah shoots you a look before scooping Hope up in his arms, she pokes his rosy cheeks and laughs again.

“Pretty silly,” Klaus says, leaning on the doorway, making his presence known.

“Niklaus,” Elijah sighs.

“No! Just pretty!” Hope exclaims.

“Y/N,” Klaus pushes off the doorframe to leave the room, “be a doll and send me whatever pictures you take…”

“Yes!” Hope squeals, “And me too! Send them to me!”

“Hope, you don’t have a cellphone,” Elijah deadpans.

“Oh.”

“But we can send them to your mother!” you smirk, trying to suppress a giggle when Elijah glares at you.

Hope giggles and runs out of the room, yelling for her mother to come see ‘pretty Elijah’.

Elijah sighs and you smile, shrugging, “You’re the one who said it’s better to indulge him.”

“I suppose I did say that…”

You take a few photos of him and set your phone down, “Hope’s right, you do look pretty.”

“Well I think you’re prettier.”

He smiles and stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Ew!” Hope yells from the doorway, causing the two of you to pull apart. She’s standing there, carrying her own makeup box that she had just got during her shopping trip with Klaus.

An idea suddenly pops into your head, making you grin, “Hey Hope, you want to make Elijah pretty?”

Seemingly forgetting about the whole previous interaction, Hope smiles, hopping up and down, “Yes! Can I make you pretty uncle Elijah?”

Elijah widens his eyes at you, as if you had just sent him to the slaughter, “Well, I have all this makeup on already, sweetie.”

“Oh come on, Elijah,” you smirk, “I can easily take that off! Let the girl do your makeup!”

“Please uncle Elijah! I promise I’ll do a good job!”

Between your encouragement and Hope’s adorable little pouty face, Elijah couldn’t say no.

Which is how he ended up with cheap, glitter makeup rubbed all over his eyelids and cheeks with cute little bows in his hair.

“I’m going to be a makeup artist! Just like you, aunt Y/N!” Hope grins at you, unveiling her work.

By some miracle, you manage to contain your laughter even as Elijah narrows his eyes at you.

“You did great, sweetheart! Isn’t that right, Elijah?”

“Yeah,” his voice almost cracks, “I look beautiful.”

Hope grins, running out of the room, shouting for everyone to come see ‘pretty Elijah’ again, making Elijah groan and bury his face in his hands.

You laugh and he looks up at you, “I’m glad you enjoy my suffering.”

“Oh honey,” you smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, “I’m your fiancé, of course I do.”

———————

“What is this, my love?” Elijah asks as you set a rather large cardboard box that was designed to look like a house in his lap.

“Please just open it, Elijah.” you smile, moving so you can sit on the arm of his chair.

He sighs, “I do not enjoy you spending your money on me.”

You roll your eyes, “You spoil me all the time ‘Lijah, besides, it's just a silly thing I think you may get a laugh out of…” you pout, “Please…”

Elijah shakes his head and presses a quick kiss to your lips, “I suppose since you asked so nicely.”

“Only you, Elijah Mikaelson, would complain about getting a gift.”

He chuckles and begins to open the box, he raises a brow when he sees what’s inside and turns to you, “Are you sure this is not meant for Hope?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Inside the box, there’s a light brown teddy bear dressed in a fancy looking dark grey suit with a black tie and matching dress shoes. A small smile tugs on his lips as he takes the bear fully out of the box.

He holds it up next to him, facing you, “Is this meant to be me?”

You bite your lip to try and stop your giggles but fail miserably. Elijah pushes the box off of him and pulls you into his lap.

He waits for your giggles to subside, raising a brow, waiting for your response.

You take a deep breath to calm your laughter, “I took Hope to the mall today and when I saw that little suit I couldn’t resist!”

Elijah hums and inspects the suit the bear is wearing, “I suppose we could pretend this is a Kiton or a Brioni… maybe even an Armani? Although this fabric does feel quite cheap.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, “Of course it feels cheap, it’s a fourteen dollar outfit for a teddy bear from a kids store!”

He clicks his tongue, “Now that just won’t do, I’ll get this little guy’s measurements and send them in for a custom suit.“

You hope that he is just joking but you can’t be too sure. You shake your head, “You have too much money you don’t even know what to do with it.”

He pulls you closer to him, “I know that I enjoy buying you whatever you want.”

“I have all I want,” you whisper before kissing him, “all I want is you.”

You then gesture to the stuffed animal, ”And for you to love the little teddy bear regardless of if he has a fancy suit or not.”

Elijah chuckles a bit, “I do love him but his wardrobe could use an upgrade.”

You sigh, “Fine, one suit.”

“Three.”

“Elijah.”

“A man needs options…”

“He’s a stuffed bear!” you giggle.

“I’ll settle for two.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

———————

“So what is this big surprise?” you ask from your spot on Elijah’s bed, you were laying on your stomach with your head resting in your hands.

“That would entirely defeat the purpose of a surprise, dear,” he glances over his shoulder to look at you, “close your eyes.”

You roll your eyes but play along, giggling a bit and close them—for good measure you drop your head into the comforter that carried the scent of his fancy cologne.

He chuckles a bit, shaking his head as he opens the closet. You lift your head to try and get a peek at what he was doing but as if he had sensed your gaze, his head snapped around and he raised a brow at you. Immediately, you drop your head back down and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Do you want your surprise or not?” he asks, teasing.

“Yes,” you answer but it comes out muffled.

You keep your head down, listening as he rustles around. After what feels like forever, he finally sits down, the bed sinking under his weight.

“Alright, you can open your eyes now…”

You pick your head up to look at Elijah, raising a brow when you notice he wasn’t holding anything but then he gestured to the floor where he had set a large basket. Despite its size, the basket was still overflowing.

Sitting up, you gasp, “Elijah…”

“While on my cell phone, I came across numerous videos of women being gifted something called a ‘boo basket’ by their lovers…”

“I see those videos all the time but this is too much…”

He rolls his eyes, “It is not, now please…” he gestures towards the basket.

“You spoil me.”

“I know,” he grins, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek.

Smiling, you slid off of the bed and onto the ground and begin to open the basket. The first thing you grabbed, was a very soft black blanket that was covered in little ghosts. You quickly unfolded it and draped it over your shoulders as you continued to dig through the basket. There were loads of different candles, all in your favorite scents—there were multiple ones in the scent of Vampire Blood which was only slightly ironic. He had also gotten you multiple stuffed animals to add to your collection, your favorite was the little vampire that he had a fancy suit custom tailored for. You had no idea how much he spent on such a small suit and you didn’t want to know. Of course, he had also filled the basket with numerous jewels, some were more modern but most of them were unique pieces he had collected over his years of life.

You nearly hit him when you see the Ralph Lauren dress box. Inside, there’s a gorgeous, black, floor length dress that no doubt cost him at least a thousand dollars but after feeling the material, you knew it had to be more than that. It had a halter top and an open back in a way that was classy and elegant.

“Elijah…” you groan dramatically when you see the Louboutin box that had been hiding at the bottom of the basket. He simply grins and gestures for you to open it.

Elijah knew you wanted those specific heels, he had seen you looking you looking at them online a few weeks back and bought them instantly. He also made sure to have the soles replaced so that the paint on the bottom wouldn’t chip away. They were gorgeous, strappy, black pumps with a pointed toe, there were little silver spikes on the toebox up the vamp. The buckle for the ankle strap was gorgeous as well, the backs also had small spikes on them, matching the toebox. If you asked Elijah, he would describe the shoes as vampire chic.

“I have a dinner reservations for us,” he smiles, “you can debut your new dress and heels.”

“And the jewelry,” you add.

“Of course,” he moves and reaches into the basket pulling out one of the many bracelets, “might I reccomend this one? The red gems will match perfectly with your heels, red as your accent color.”

“No necklace?”

“Not with the neckline of the gown.”

You smile, jumping up from your place on the floor, making your blanket fall from your shoulders. You’re standing right in front of him, “And you’re certain that not once in your very long life you were a personal stylist?”

He laughs, “I am sure, my dear.”

Taking his face into your hands, your smile softens, “I love everything, my love. But you really didn’t have to get me all of this… you spoil me too much.”

“I don’t spoil you enough.”

You laugh, shaking your head and pull him in for a kiss. After a moment, you pull away just enough to speak, “People probably think I’m your sugar baby, you know?” you mumble against his lips, “especially with you in your fancy suits all the time…”

“People will make assumptions no matter what, sweetheart. Let them think what they want.”

———————

“Fred and Daphne?” you suggest.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in an ascot,” Elijah scoffs.

“Jack and Sally?”

“The paint would make a mess.”

“Chucky and Tiffany?”

“Do you really want to see me in a little orange wig?” he looks at you, deadpanning.

“Yes!”

He raises a brow before going back to his magazine, “No.”

“Werewolves! It would be ironic!”

He doesn’t even dignify that suggestion with a verbal response. He just shakes his head, making you groan. You stand right in front of him with your arms crossed, tapping your foot like an angry mother. This had been going on for about half an hour now, you suggest a costume idea, Elijah shoots it down.

After a moment he sets his magazine aside and reaches for your hands, looking up at you with a teasing grin on his face, “Sweetheart, I told you before, I don’t do costumes.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so against it.”

“It’s not that I’m against it… I just don’t see the point. Besides, the costumes are meant to be… scary.”

“We can be scary! Werewolves would be scary… or maybe—“

“Darling,” he cuts you off, “Do you even know the origin of Halloween?”

“…I’m sure that you do,” you tilt your head up, crossing your arms once more, “you were probably alive for it.”

He chuckles, taking no offense to your comment on his age, “Samhain, Celtics believed that what we know as Halloween was the day that the veil between the spirit world and our world was the thinnest. They believed that these spirits would cross over, good and bad. People today wear costumes on Halloween because back then, they wore costumes and masks to disguise themselves so that the spirits wouldn’t be able to identify them as human.”

You nod and he continues, “They would carve jack-o-lanterns with scary faces to scare away the evil spirits. All of these Halloween traditions we have today, stemmed from this. But now it is simply a holiday where children dress up to get free candy.”

“Adults dress up too,” you remind him.

You sit down in his lap, straddling his thighs, “For a man obsessed with appearances and parties, it’s funny you’re hosting a Halloween event and won’t wear a costume.”

“You are welcome to dress up as sexy or scary as you’d like but I’ll be attending as myself.”

Narrowing your eyes, you reach for his hair and flatten it out against his head. You grin when you get an idea.

“What if…your costume isn’t as elaborate?”

He hums, "What are you thinking?”

“You have a pinstripe suit, correct?”

“Of course I do—but I already said I wouldn’t be Jack Skellington…too much face paint.”

You grab his bicep, “too much muscle… but regardless, I’m not speaking of Jack.”

“Is that so?”

“Gomez Addams… all you’ve got to do is wear the pinstripe suit, slick your hair down, and draw on a little fake mustache, and I’ll be Morticia.”

He ponders for a moment before giving you a quick peck on the lips, “Fine. But only because Gomez worships Mortica.”

“Just as you worship me?” you taunt.

Elijah practically growls at your teasing and pulls you down for a heated kiss. His voice is deeper, huskier when he pulls back.

“Just as I worship you.”