underoos💄👑

She dies of old age. Married to horror movie villain vampire turned hometown hero human Damon Salvatore. Two kids, one grandchild (three grandkittens). Rebuilt her father's practice, made it her own. Traveled to a few big cities along the way--Atlanta, Chicago, New York, New Orleans--but always goes home. She has blood on her hands, but believes she's a good person; knows Damon does, too, but believes that he is good in his heart. Watches her almost-stepsisters' grandchildren on the weekends, visits her almost-stepfather's grave alongside her brother-in-law's, her husband and ageless sister-in-law right by her side. Reborn, lives, dies, loves, dies, kills, lives, loves, dies, lives, sleeps, wakes, marries, dies.

Wakes up, sixteen again. Dies two weeks later by bluntforce trauma to the head from being thrown against a wall. Hears her mother's scream cut off with a gurgle.

Again. And again.

Wakes up. Dies the next night, her family's car a torched mess wrapped around a tree.

Wakes up. Dies by drowning.

Again again again.

Wakes up. Dies by strangulation after giving her secrets away to her former husband.

Wakes up. Dies by blood loss after giving her secrets away to her once epic love and tripping over a fallen branch, a twig going through her palm--he's on her before she can even scream.

Wakes up. Dies by broken neck when her former husband finds her with said epic love and loses his temper.

Again. Again. Again again again again again again again again again...

Wakes up. Convinces her parents to let her drive when they pick her up. They pass Damon--her father leaves for a so-called business trip four days later and never returns alive, his body returned in a casket with a gaping hole sewn shut. She knows why his body looks so wrong, veins in stark contrast to grey skin,  suspects her mother knows, too, confirmed when she disappears and returns just as dead, the brand of Augustine linking them beneath the earth. Her brother lashes out too much, too drunk-high-faded to control himself, doesn't know his own strength, and she's too upset, too off-balance, her vision to blurry and reflexes too slow to catch herself on the railing. Swears she remembers hearing her neck snap this time, her head cracking open, blood splattered over the wall.

Again.

Wakes up. Asks her parents about vampires, werewolves, Doppelgängers. Gets shocked and confused looks followed by a crash course on the family history, on hate and mistrust and bigotry, and wonders aloud why it has to be this way. They get frustrated when she doesn't understand, doesn't accept their views as her own. Take her to the Society, show her their pet vampire, make him compel her to leave the supernatural alone and trust them to know best. She takes a tour around college and dies at the hand of a vampire obsessed with her face--with the last woman who wore it.

Wakes up. Packs a bag. Clothes, shoes for running, both her and her brother's money socks (bakesales of two different kinds, plus holiday and birthday money, adds up to more than a thousand each, sorry sorry), no jewelry or electronics, no keepsakes, steals from her parents' vervain stash just in case. Escapes in the middle of the day, drives to the next town and ditches her aunt's car, boosting another, repeats until she gets to the state line--hitchhikes for two states, then rents a car and makes it to Georgia.

Almost has a heartattack when she runs into her ex-but-not-anymore, but it's just a Doppelgänger, not him. He's normal and sweet, and he offers to take her to the hospital when she appears to be having a psychotic break, then listens to her sob story about losing her parents and her husband and her children and takes her to a bar instead. This is where she meets a witch for the first time again. Asks about her Doppelgänger, magic, vampires, werewolves, curses; asks to be taught, trained, a request that is granted.

Her old friend slash first hybrid-but-not-anymore-not-yet finds her in Chicago five years later, not looking, surprised to see her. She wonders if it's really coincidence, if they have a connection that transcends timelines, if his other creator can find her, too. Thoughts are silenced when he delivers the news: her parents are dead, made a mistake with a vampire in their desperation to find her (the not-hybrid doesn't know anything, isn't even a wolf yet, but she reads between the lines of "animal attack when they were out of town following a lead"), her aunt left town and never looked back, teaches at Whitmore with her fiance, Jeremy overdosed the second he was left alone after the funeral, lays in a coma with his medical bills paid for by the town.

She dies from her own kind of overdose, one of magic. Her powers fry her, emotions too raw and uncontrolled, sucking the life out of everything around her until her skin turns pale, then red, then charcoal-grey. Her friend-not-friend-son-not-son screams in shock as she explodes.

Repeat, this time with a note left behind, don't look. Same witch, same training, same new acquaintances and more training. More magic flows through her veins than ever, but she's greeted with the same death when her parents find her and explain that her brother committed suicide by overdose, angry she left him behind. She's sad and guilty and angry they came for her, and she barely registers the wave of power in her ears until it's too late. They die together.

She wakes up. Breaks down. Crying and screaming, lashing out. Can't take the pressure--tells her brother everything, as if he can help. He doesn't, can't. Won't believe her, thinks she's messing with him or losing her mind or got into his stash or something. Their parents overheard it all, understand that it's the truth, but they can't accept it. She tries to explain, but it makes it worse--they don't try to compel her this time, apparently that's not enough. They take her away, lock her up in a cell.

She knows this place, remembers it; looks to the left, isn't surprised to see him. Her best friend's lover, and her lover's best friend. She cries and cries until she falls asleep. Wakes up to someone petting her hair through the bars of her cell, fingers combing out the tangles, braiding the edges from her face. Looks up, cries again, spills everything once more, this time to someone she's pretty sure won't say she's crazy. And he doesn't--he believes her. She cries and cries until she falls asleep, wakes up to find him dead, staked through the heart; it looks like he tried to protect her, and that makes it worse, because she knows they won't hurt her, won't kill her like that.

No, they hurt her in other ways. Her parents--not her parents--they torture her for days, months, years, she loses count. Try to brainwash her into working with them, for them, using her knowledge and their skills to wipe out the creatures they abhor. They bring her husband's head, the heart of her once epic love, the teeth of her not-son. Magic can stay, but killers cannot--they bring witches to warp her memories, her best friend with cold eyes, and she knows her former sister-in-law is dead for good, probably turned after she went missing and staked after that. The shock of knowledge is enough to break her mind, let the magic and the science inside to do what they please, and she becomes their weapon.

She dies by her hybrid killer's hands, his teeth in her neck yet again, but she knows a witch is behind him, waiting for the weakness to take over his body. She feels the explosion as she drifts on an ocean, dizzy, fading into black.

Wakes up. Brainwashing is still in effect, and now she has all the memories she needs to finish the mission. She does, with a precision and finesse that would make her ancestors proud, that would horrify beings millenia her senior. The eldest first, buried in a tomb, and his lover shipped across the world--then the young ones, the ones with simpler weaknesses, first the wolf, then the coffins, then him. He almost gets her, almost breaks through, with those dark eyes gazing at her like he knows.

But when she asks, Do you know who I am? all he can say is, I knew that you were coming, and I knew that you would save me for last, and I know that you are not Katerina, but no, I cannot say that I know who you are.

Even that is almost enough to bring her back, remembering him from lifetimes ago--could she be even older than him now, with all the regression? no. no, that was impossible, but she might be older than them, or even her--but he tries to strike when she's conflicted, and her reflexes are faster than her emotions. The stake goes in at the same moment he reaches for her face, clutching her with both hands. She watches as he grits his teeth, his flesh burning like embers rather than flames, and she can almost see her own memories in his head, watches the horror dawn alongside pain and pity and intrigue.

He laughs when his knees give out, blood spraying past his lips to splatter her, and she jumps; she wishes she could say it was the blood, the disgusting sight of his flesh flaking away, but it's not. She jumps because he laughs, and she's never heard that before--it's marred by the grotesque scene, muffled from the blood in his teeth, but it's still... something. Not pretty or beautiful or soothing. But something.

His grin is sharp but almost sad as he looks up at her, and as his body turns fully to ash, he tells her, Come find me next time. Tell me the truth, and I'll help you. Then he's gone.

And the world burns with him.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd always wondered if this might happen. If magic, especially Earth Magic, Nature Magic, might be more like science than witches could comprehend. Vampires had been part of the ecosystem, the biosphere, for centuries--they were around when life-expectancy and population were both low. A thousand years of adaptation from five to dozens to hundreds to thousands of them, only to be wiped out in a matter of days; it was an ecosystem's worst nightmare. Nature had adapted, people had not, and this destroys them both.

It starts with confusion--where did all the dead bodies come from? What disease is this? But they don't know, can't see vampirism in permanently-dead tissue, and witches refuse to come clean with humans. The death toll is larger than she expected, somewhere in the millions, and a chill runs down her spine as the witches cheer.

In just one year, overpopulation runs rampant, and whole nations begin starving. No space for new homes, so forests are leveled; the rich live underground, mansions sprawling beneath mountains.

Two years, three years, and water becomes scarce; rivers dry up, reservoirs disrupted. Humans begin getting sick, too sick to move, let alone work. Birthrates drop in big cities, then small towns, then all over. Businesses go under, followed by whole governments. More death, more desperation, more destruction.

Five years, and half of all animal species are extinct. Another decade, barely a quarter remains.

Nature rebels. Plants wither, whatever is left burns. Deserts where there were once lakes and forests, ocean levels drop, volcanos erupt. The world does not end slowly, over centuries or millenia--as it turns out, it doesn't take that long to starve to death when you're too weak to move. A vicious cycle of fatigue and starvation leading to more fatigue and starvation. Three decades after she finished her mission, she's one of only a handful of humans left scraping by.

She dies in fire, with no one to see it.

Wakes up. Fights the itch, the urge to start again, finish the mission. Finds her parents, tells them she'll be back; won't accept their love, their physical affection, can't if she wants to stay sane. She catches her brother's eye, sees his suspicion, grits her teeth and leaves; makes it to a hotel five towns over before she breaks down. It hurts to resist, hurts more than anything ever has, but she has to keep going. There's only one person who can help her now and she almost laughs as she thinks of their last meeting.

Come find me next time.

Can't use her phone, her family might track her before the job is done, asks a concierge instead. Ten minutes is all she needs--gives the guy fifty dollars to keep his mouth shut when he gives her a look that screams, Should I call the cops?

She calls. No answer. Leaves a message, hangs up. The concierge clears his throat, but she holds up a finger, staring at the phone in her hand. Exactly one minute later, it rings loudly--she grins, victorious and a little pained, and answers immediately. Two questions, three answers, and a click. She hands the phone back and goes to her room.

It hurts. She drinks. Her mind drifts to the mission--she breaks the little bottle and cuts her leg. The fog fades while the pain burns, and she's glad he's not here yet; she doubts he'd hurt her, or pay any mind at all, and he probably wouldn't ask outright, but he would wonder. Wonder what she was doing, and why. He'd help her wrap it up--wouldn't heal her, not if she didn't ask--and that touch would break her. Soft, gentle, professional. It would shatter her like the glass she still held, and she would spill everything, and that wasn't how she wanted to start the conversation. Not this time.

Next time, maybe. But not now.

He comes the next morning. Suit immaculate, hair not quite. His knock is concise--tap tap, that's it. She opens the door a second later, already at the door since six a.m., and it's now eight. He's not surprised by her face--one of her answers last night had told him as much--but his gaze drops to the makeshift sheet-bandage wrapped around her calf, and he's confused, but only for a moment, because then she speaks, and he has something else to wonder about.

I need you to help me fix my brain, she grits out. In return, you can see my memories. I'd also appreciate it if you would kill me when we're done.

Must I?

If you don't agree, I'll do it right now and go find someone else. But I think you'll agree to my terms.

How can you be so sure?

She grins, a little insane. Because my words don't make any sense, and you can't resist the desire to find out what they mean.

She watches him, knows he wants to ask, ask how she knows him like this--she doesn't, not really, she knows him better than most, yes, but that doesn't take much when he doesn't let people in as a general rule--but he leans in at exactly the wrong moment, and she feels the urge tugging at her gut again. Her feet move back, and she holds up a hand to ward him off when he follows.

Give me your word. She leans against the opposite wall with crossed arms, her nails digging into her arms with the effort of keeping still.

He passes through the door, shuts it, leans against it with a posture to mirror hers. His dark eyes observe her from head to toe, then meet hers with a sharpness she recognizes even before she feels the nudge--his mouth ticks up at the corner. You can't be compelled.

I can resist compulsion, she corrects with an irritated sigh. I am the one that decides who gets into my head. Do we have a deal?

He ponders it for a long moment. I have a condition, he says, which is as good as a yes when it comes to him, or them, because she doesn't care what the condition is.

She asks anyway. What is it?

Before I kill you, he says slowly--she sighs in relief--as he steps closer, I want the right to ask any questions I so desire to ask... A pause, and he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. And after that, I want a favor.

A favor, she says slowly. But I'll be dead.

Well, he drawls. Then I suppose it will be a quick favor. His smile is miniscule but sharp. If you can agree to these terms, we have a deal.

She tilts her face away from his hand, eliminating contact but keeping her eyes on his. Then I guess we should get started, she says with a nod. Her eyes close, and her shoulders relax with the sigh she releases. We have a deal.

She sits down at the little table provided by the hotel, and he pulls the extra chair around to sit directly in front of her, their thighs interlocked with each other. Every minute shift in their seats presses their legs together, and she has to grit her teeth to keep the magic under her skin from surfacing. He asks her several questions in a perfunctory tone, very professional--what exactly does she want removed, why is it there, who put it there, can he touch her skin to keep their connection steady. She lets him touch her hand; her face would be better, but it's too intimate and leaves her hands free to do what they really want to do, which is kill him--it's not her that wants him dead, but her mind and body. Something in the way she twitches must alert him to this fact, because he grabs her hands between his and looks into her eyes with no hesitation.

By the end of it, she feels relaxed for the first time since her husband's best friend died for her; there's no more pain, no more itch. She feels calm.

He isn't, though. Calm, that is. He's still--eerily so, not even blinking or breathing, as far as she can see. His gaze is the only sense of life on him, filled not with void but with pain and horror. It's clear he's disgusted, but when she tries to pull her hands away, to run from him in shame, he pulls her close, gripping her shoulders.

What happened to you?

Unbidden, her eyes fill with tears. I died, is what she says.

She moves his hands to her face and pushes, forcing the memories to float between them--watches as they're sucked into the black chasm of his gaze, as said gaze gets wider and wider with horror as he watches it all play out before him. Hundreds of lives, some short and some long; some including his brother, others her many lovers, only two before this with he himself in any capacity.

He says, Did you ever trust me? But he knows the answer.

I trusted you from the very first deal, she whispers. But everyone that I told either didn't believe me or just killed me. I didn't want... I don't think I could have survived if you did, too.

He's seen it in her mind--she loved him, at least in some capacity, in the first life they met. She might still, even, but she's broken in ways that can't be fully healed, not by him or anyone. And she feels guilty for all of it: for loving two, three, four people at once, for killing people, for killing him and his family, for hating the people that raised her, for not saving the people she loves that love her, for being selfish at the end of her first life and wishing for something she'd never had.

Five centuries, give or take. Five hundred years of guilt, and it reminds him of his family, of himself.

He asks her a hundred questions, pushes her for exactness, digs through her memories for every emotion, every thought, every compulsion placed on her; he asks and asks and tears at her psyche until she breaks down and repeats it all, shows him every piece of her, and then he asks for a favor. The same favor, and she knows he says it this way on purpose because he's seen her memory of the past.

Come find me next time. He tilts her chin with both hands, his gaze pleading. When you wake up, find me. Don't go to anyone else, don't ask questions, don't run away from it all. Just come to me. I will save you, if it's the last thing I do.

More tears trickle down her cheeks. I'll have to go through this again, then. She doesn't care, not exactly, but it hurts too much to be fully okay with it.

No, he insists. Don't tell me everything, but tell me the truth. Give me a glimpse, but don't hurt yourself. Can you do that?

Yes, she manages to whisper. But why do you care? Why do you want... to save me?

For the first time in her many lives, he hesitates to speak the truth. Because... I think I loved you. And I'm incapable of abandoning those that I love when they are in such immense pain.

But you want to kill your brother.

Only because I believed he destroyed the family we shared. Family is his only redemption, and as I thought he had buried them at sea... Well. If he could so easily abandon them, then the last of his morality is already gone. I believed him a true monster.

She sighed softly. But anyone who is capable of love is capable of being saved. Her eyes filled with tears again. She used to say that all the time. It's how she forgave my husband. She sniffled. But I can't. I'll never forgive him--them. The brothers... how many times have I died by them? By their sire. And my sister, she died, too. On the inside, and then temporarily, and then permanently. Over and over and over.

There was even a time she herself had killed the blonde, if only to put her out of her misery. She'd forgotten about that particular life, or perhaps buried it purposefully; the one time she managed to avoid her husband by seeking out her twin along with her sweet sisters. The blonde had turned alongside her, only to be bitten by her once-upon-a-time-wolf-boyfriend by accident. She'd held the blonde's heart in her hand, crushing it as tears ran down her face and the blonde begged for her mother to read her a fairytale.

Her life had ended shortly after, the witch unable to control her grief and she unable to run from it under the weight of her guilt. It was the only time she actively killed either of her sisters.

Another sob ripped through her chest. I can't even forgive myself. I destroyed the world. And I might do it again.

He shook his head. You won't. His hand curled in her hair. As you destroyed, so you will save. I will help you, if you allow it. But you have the power to do anything you wish. Forgive, forget, destroy, save. It is up to you.

What did I do to deserve this? she cried. I never would have made a wish if I knew it would never end.

You know what they say about wishing, he mused gently.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up her throat and past her lips. Yeah. She gazed up at him, wiping her face with a sleeve. Is... Is that your favor? Telling you again?

She watches him swallow, looking at her with that analyzing, calculating, contemplating gaze. No, he says finally. I don't want to force you. Tell me if you want, or keep it to yourself. It's your trauma, and yours alone.

She blinks in confusion. Then... what do you want?

He smiles. Please save me.

Another blink. From what?

A deep sadness crosses his face, flickers in his eyes, before it disappears as he leans closer. His lips press against her forehead in a featherlight touch, palms a gentle collar around her neck.

From myself.

There is no pain, and she does not hear it as her spine snaps in his hands. She dies in the beat from one second to the next.

Elena Gilbert wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t even tipsy. She had nursed a single drink all night, more focused on the atmosphere of the grill then on getting caught up in the buzz of alcohol. The gang had gone out for Matt’s birthday, and while the others were letting loose, Elena found herself restless. Detached.  

She was sitting in a corner booth at the grill, between Damon and Stefan. Both of them had been vying for her attention all night, but she had eyes for another.  

He wasn’t a part of the group, but seated at the bar with a drink in his hand. The way he was staring into the bottom of his glass, Elena could tell he was lost in thought.  

Elijah Mikaelson, once her ally, once her enemy, now just a passing acquaintance. She hadn't seen him since he left Mystic Falls behind and moved to New Orleans.  

He looked good, his hair a bit shorter, and his clothes a bit tighter. He was wearing a black button-down and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, giving him a relaxed, casual air. A rare form for him to be in.  

"Earth to Elena," Damon’s voice cut through her thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"I asked if you want one more drink before we go?" He was gesturing toward her nearly empty glass.

"Yeah, thanks... Actually, I'll get it myself. I need to use the ladies' room anyway," she replied, ignoring the way he had his arm around the back of her seat, like he was expecting to leave with her.

The truth was, she didn’t want another drink, nor did she want to go home with either Salvatore… But she did want to talk to Elijah.

She grabbed her purse and slid out of the booth, heading to the bathroom. She fixed her lipstick and her hair, trying to keep her nerves under control.

There was so much left unsaid between her and the handsome original. So many things that she wanted to ask him, but she wasn't sure if she was ready for the answers.

She was still working through a bit of heartbreak with Damon, she knew just how toxic they had been together. She was afraid to dive into anything that even slightly resembled the relationship she had with him.

She didn’t want anything complicated, just a release, a catharsis. Something to help her truly move on… or at least distract her from her thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the bathroom door open, walking out into the dining area of the grill. It was packed with people, but she saw him still at the bar.

It wasn’t until she was nearly standing beside him that she realized how awkward this could be. Maybe he didn’t see her the way she saw him.

Still, she slid onto the barstool beside him, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Up close, he smelled like bourbon and something distinctly him. Clean, expensive, understated. It was unfair how good he looked. How unbothered. How he just existed in the middle of the chaos of the grill, like none of it touched him.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Second-guessing herself now felt ridiculous. She had already committed by sitting here.

“Hey, stranger.” she finally managed to get out.

Elijah lifted his head from where he had been staring into his drink. His eyes flicked to her, just for a second, before he turned to face her fully. Surprise flashed across his features, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by something unreadable. A small, polite smile.

“Elena.” The way he said her name sent a ripple down her spine. “Are you enjoying your evening?”

She tried to ignore the way her pulse picked up. “I am. How about you?” She tilted her head slightly, feigning casual interest. “I haven’t seen you since…”

She trailed off. Since what, exactly? Since he left for New Orleans? Since she turned her humanity back on? Since… everything…

Elijah, of course, filled in the blanks for her. “Since we kissed, and then Katherine snapped your neck?” His voice was so smooth, so unbothered, that it took a second for the words to sink in.

Her stomach dropped. “I… um… yeah.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she instantly regretted coming over here.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not quite mocking, but amused. “A rather unfortunate sequence of events.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “That’s one way to put it.”

A beat of silence passed. The air between them wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy, weighted down with too much unspoken history.

Elijah was watching her. Not in an obvious way, but in a way that made her feel like she was under a microscope. Like he was peeling back her layers, unraveling her thoughts before she even voiced them.

He swirled his drink before setting it down. “And how are you, Elena?”

She blinked. Something about the way he said it. In this low, intent way, like he actually wanted a genuine answer. It nearly threw her off balance.

She had far too much to drink for this.

“I’m… figuring things out,” she stuttered, the safest way to phrase it.

Elijah arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s rather vague.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing at the condensation on the bar with the tip of her finger. “Yeah, well, it’s been complicated.”

As if on cue, the complication came striding over, with all the confidence in the world. Damon slid into the stool next to her, and Elijah cracked the smallest of smiles.

She tried not to bristle, but her annoyance must have been clear. Because Damon glanced between them, and then back at her, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"I'm surprised to see you here Elijah, I heard you were thriving down in the Louisiana bayous," Damon said, his tone light and friendly, but Elena could detect a note of bitterness underneath.

"Yes, well, I needed a break. The humidity is a bit oppressive," Elijah's voice was smooth and polite. 

"Well, maybe you should be getting back, wouldn't want your swamp friends to worry," Damon was baiting him, and Elena wanted to groan.

But Elijah wasn't one to be baited.

"No, perhaps not," He replied, his tone never shifting. "But the company here is far better,"

His eyes raked over Elena in such an obvious way, as though he was daring Damon to call him out. She was surprised when her face flushed, and her heart sped up. There was something about his intensity that set her on fire.

She watched as the two men stared at each other. Damon looked pissed and Elijah looked as calm as ever.

Damon leaned over, placing a hand on the small of her back. A move that she once would have loved, but now was over-familiar.

"Stop," she said softly, brushing away his hand.

Damon's brows drew together. "What?"

He stared at her, a little confused, and a little hurt. Pretending like they weren't on a serious break, that they weren't in a constant state of turmoil.

"I mean it, stop," She whispered, giving him a pleading look.

Elijah took in the scene with a quiet sort of amusement, but his sharp gaze didn’t miss a thing. The way Elena stiffened under Damon’s touch. The way her shoulders drew in slightly, like she was preparing for a fight she didn’t want to have. The way Damon.. all too predictably… wasn't going to let it go.

"Come on, ‘Lena. Let’s talk. You owe me that, don’t you?" Damon’s voice was lower now, coaxing, as if she was still the girl who would melt under his charm. 

Elena’s lips parted, and for a moment, Elijah could see the old patterns creeping back in. The way Damon spoke to her like she was something fragile, like she needed saving. The hesitation. The wariness. The temptation to just give in to whatever Damon wanted because it was easier. He knew the feeling all too well…

"Elena has told you to stop. Twice." Elijah’s voice remained smooth, even, but there was an unmistakable edge now. "And yet, here you are, still pressing the matter. It’s rather embarrassing, don’t you think?"

Damon bristled. "I don’t need a lecture from you about my relationship, buddy."

Elijah smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "And yet, you’re receiving one."

Elena swallowed. She could feel the tension thrumming between them, thick enough to suffocate. Her first instinct was to step in, to smooth things over. But then she stopped herself. Because Elijah wasn’t wrong. Damon wasn’t listening. And honestly? She was tired of fighting this battle alone.

"Elijah’s right," she said softly, shifting slightly closer to Elijah. Damon’s eyes followed the movement like it was some sort of betrayal. "I told you to stop, Damon. And I mean it."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "So what, you’re suddenly into him?" He gestured at Elijah like he was an offensive piece of furniture. "Come on, Elena. You can’t be serious."

Elijah chuckled, low and quiet. He was still leaning casually against the bar, still outwardly relaxed, but there was something in his posture that had shifted. Like a predator assessing whether his prey was still worth entertaining.

"Why do you assume your rejection must be about me?" he mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Rather than considering the possibility that Elena simply doesn’t want you here,"

Damon’s smirk vanished.

And for the first time that night, he had nothing to say.

Elijah smiled again, but this time, there was something sharper beneath it, his canines flashing. He turned slightly, just enough to look at Elena properly, and his eyes raked over her once more.

“Shall we order another drink?” he asked, his voice smooth, unbothered. "It seems you've earned one."

Elena hesitated, her mind still reeling from the confrontation. But she found herself nodding. “Yeah. I think I have.”

Damon exhaled sharply, like he wanted to argue, but instead, he stood and stormed off. Elena didn’t watch him leave.

Instead, she focused on Elijah, who gestured for the bartender.

The tension in her shoulders eased as he ordered for both of them. There was something stabilizing about him. No pressure, no expectation. Just quiet presence.

His silence stretched long enough that she glanced up, meeting his gaze. It was softer now, considering. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how to start.

"Are you alright?" he asked finally.

Elena nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm okay."

“Damon is… not the easiest of men,” Elijah murmured, taking a sip of his drink.

Elena tensed slightly at the mention of Damon. Not because it was a sore subject. She had been expecting it… but because Elijah sounded like he understood her in a way that made her feel exposed.

“No, he’s not,” she admitted quietly. She hesitated before adding, “It wasn’t working. I think, deep down, I knew that for a while. I just… kept holding on.”

Elijah nodded, his history with Katherine wasn’t all that different.

“You deserved better,” he said simply.

The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because when people said it before, it felt like an empty platitude. But from Elijah, it sounded like a fact. Like there was no argument to be had.

She swallowed. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“They’re not wrong.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything at all.

Instead, she let herself look at him. Really look at him. He was different from when she first met him. A little more relaxed, a little less like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Or maybe he just hid it better. Either way, she had a deep urge to get to know this new side.

"So... How's Louisiana? Are you happy there?" She asked, trying to fill the silence.

Elijah hummed, taking a sip of his drink. "In a way, yes, I'm happier than I have been in a long time, I'm with my family, and it feels good to be home,"

"And in another way?" She pressed, she wanted to know more.

He sighed, "Everything is still as dysfunctional as ever. And while I'm grateful to have my siblings... Sometimes I need a break,"

Elena nodded, chuckling softly. "Yeah, I get that,"

Their conversation flowed, deepening into something unexpectedly familiar. The tension from earlier melted into a quieter, more charged atmosphere.

Elijah ordered her another drink, and they began to catch up, talking about nothing and everything. It was as though a crackle of electricity passed between them. They were close, not quite touching, but she could practically feel the heat radiating off his body.

"Would you like to go for a walk with me?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curving upward.

She nodded, sliding off her barstool. He did the same, his hand falling on the small of her back. This time, the touch was welcome.

For a moment, they stood there, like both of them were aware that things had changed. Things had escalated. A simple suggestion of a walk was more loaded than it should be.

She looked over at the table of her friends. Stefan looked like he had swallowed a lemon, Caroline and Bonnie were giggling and whispering behind their hands, and Matt had a confused expression.

She gave them an awkward smile and took Elijah's arm.

He led her out of the grill and across the street towards the town square. It was late and most of the shops had closed hours ago, the streets were empty.

"What were you thinking about when I walked up to the bar?" She asked as they strolled down the sidewalk.

“Oh, it was nothing,”

"Tell me." She nudged him with her shoulder.

"Very well. I was thinking of you." He chuckled, enjoying the blush that rose to her cheeks.

"Me?" She asked quietly.

"I'm afraid so." He teased, looking straight ahead.

"What about me?"

He sighed. “I was trying to understand why, even after all this time, I still can't shake the feelings I have for you.”

"Feelings?" Her heart pounded in her chest.

He chuckled and looked at the ground, shaking his head. "Forgive me. You are young and deserve the right to explore life without another old man pining for you."

"Old man?" She laughed, stopping and turning to face him.

"Relatively speaking." He smirked.

"You don't look a day over 35." She teased.

"How generous." He quipped, looking up at her from under his brow.

The smile slipped from her face as she stared back. His eyes held such an intensity, and he was so close. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

"You know... When we kissed that day… when you thought I was Katherine…. I felt something." She said quietly.

He didn't respond, he just watched her, waiting for her to continue.

"And... And that's when I didn’t want to feel anything. But you broke through." Her voice cracked slightly, the pain and guilt from that time of her life still haunted her.

He reached up, gently pushing a strand of hair out of her face. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch.

"Maybe some things are meant to break through." He whispered.

His fingers ghosted over her cheek, hesitant and gentle. She wasn’t moving away. She wasn’t stopping him. When his thumb brushed over her skin, her breath hitched, her entire body locking in place. He was waiting. Giving her the choice to step away.

But she didn’t want to step away. She took the lead, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down, pressing her lips to his.

He let out a soft hum of surprise, sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. One of his hands moved to the back of her neck, guiding the kiss, deepening it.

Her fingers curled into his shirt as he guided her backwards until she hit a tree. He pressed her against the rough bark, his tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting her.

He surprised her with his assertion, it wasn't aggressive or demanding like Damon. Neither was it possessive and needy like Stefan. Elijah was gentle, yet firm, commanding, yet coaxing.

He didn’t overwhelm her, didn’t force her to keep up. Instead, he guided her, his fingers pressing into her waist, his body anchoring her to the tree like he was the only thing that could keep her standing.

She had never been kissed like this.

"Come home with me." He whispered against her lips, his breath tickling her skin.

She nodded, pulling back. Her pupils were blown wide, and her breathing was shallow. He gave her a soft smile and took her hand, pulling her off the tree and leading her down the street. 

Neither of them said anything as they walked, but the anticipation was buzzing in the air. As though the very air around them was alive, encouraging them forward.

It was only a short drive to the home Elijah was occupying. It was located on the edge of town, surrounded by trees. It was quiet, peaceful.

Elena followed Elijah inside his house, shutting the door behind her. Her nerves were on fire, and she was buzzing with anticipation. She had sobered up a little on the drive over, but the rush of adrenaline and the sheer recklessness of this decision, kept her dizzy.

Elijah tossed his keys on the table and turned to face her. A soft smile played at his lips, his eyes dancing with amusement. He looked so at ease, while she felt like her heart was about to hammer out of her chest.

They stood across from each other. The moment stretched like a stand-off, neither of them willing to make the first move.

“Do you want a drink?” he offered, nodding toward the liquor cabinet.

Elena shook her head, swallowing hard. “No, I…uh-no.”

He chuckled, low in his throat. “What do you want then?”

The words hung in the air between them, the tension tightening around them like an invisible thread. Elena searched her brain, trying to think of the best way to answer. But the truth was, she wasn’t entirely sure. She just knew she didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. She didn’t want to go home and lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Damon, thinking about Stefan, thinking about the endless cycle of love and loss that had defined her life for too long.

She was still figuring out who she was. A new vampire. A college student. Fresh out of two serious relationships that had left her drained in every way. She had spent years revolving around the Salvatores, making choices that felt inevitable, destined. And she was done with all of that, she needed freedom.

She didn’t want anything complicated. She didn’t want to fall into something that would require more of her. She just wanted to feel good.

Elijah watched her with quiet fascination. His expression was unreadable, but there was something behind his eyes. Something almost nostalgic.

He was thinking of Tatia, of Katherine. The way all three of them made that same expression when they were deep in thought. But he shook the thought away before it could take root. Elena certainly wasn’t Katherine. She wasn’t Tatia, either. He knew that better than most.

So what was he doing? He had told himself he wouldn’t seek her out, wouldn’t take advantage. He had made that mistake before, again and again, and he had no interest in repeating history.

And yet. Here she was.

And here he was, ready and willing to fall right into his old patterns.

His heart ached at how beautiful she looked, how painfully human despite what she had become. She was miles sweeter than Katherine, even Tatia. More real.

“To be clear,” he said, taking a step forward, his voice lower now, more serious. “When I ask you what you want, I mean exactly that. Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

Elena shifted her weight from foot to foot, her pulse racing even though he wasn’t touching her. She had never had to ask for what she wanted before. Stefan had always just known. Damon had always taken the lead without her input.

But this was different. This was Elijah.

“I know what I don’t want,” she said finally. “I don’t want to be alone. I don't want to think. I don’t want…”

She trailed off, struggling to put it into words. She didn’t want a relationship. Didn’t want romance. Didn’t want the weight of expectations, the intensity of emotions that had defined every relationship in her life up until now. She was still trying to understand what her life was supposed to be now that it was endless.

She didn’t want another love story that would only end in blood and heartbreak.

Elijah studied her for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then, as if he had plucked the answer straight from her mind, he said,

“Attachment?”

She blinked, her eyes going wide. Relief flooded through her, but she couldn't help feeling embarrassed, vulnerable at how easily he seemed to see through her.

He chuckled at the expression on her face, the way her cheeks tinged pink. He looked down and adjusted his cufflinks, smiling to himself. 

Then he reached out his hand.

Elena glanced down, hesitant. His palm was open, inviting, and when she took it, his grip was strong, sure. His eyes met hers, and for a second, she forgot to breathe. He didn’t speak, but he didn't have to. His intentions were written all over his face. He pulled her toward him, and her whole body lit up like a match.

She let out a soft squeak as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. She barely had time to react before his lips were on hers.

This kiss was different from the one they had shared outside the grill. He seemed even more assured, more confident. A jolt of insecurity ran through her, she wondered if he would find her inadequate. It wasn't like she was some sort of sex goddess, and Elijah had probably been with more women than she could count.

He must have sensed her nervousness because he slowed, taking his time. His hands found hers, bringing them up to his chest, and holding them there, steady, reassuring.

When he pulled away, he searched her face.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender. "Don't be nervous."

Elena swallowed, her breath hitching as warmth spread through her chest. She wanted to respond, to say something clever, but her lips parted uselessly. Instead, she exhaled shakily, blinking up at him.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Good," he murmured, his voice a low hum against her skin. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her neck. 

Elena closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. Her nerves vanished as his lips found her jaw, his stubble a teasing scrape against her skin. 

Then he stepped back, taking her by the hand and leading her upstairs. The bedroom was large and dimly lit, the bed was massive. The sheets looked expensive, crisp and clean.

She took a tentative step forward, keeping her hand in his, their fingers intertwined.

He smiled softly, letting his thumb trace a lazy circle on her skin. Then he gently tugged her towards him, and she stumbled forward, her free hand flying to his chest, steadying herself. The heat rose in her cheeks, and Elijah enjoyed her surprised expression. His hands moved down her sides to the bottom of her dress, his fingers curling around the hem, slowly lifting it up, letting his knuckles brush over her thighs.

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her fingers working on the top buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. They were both quiet, the air crackling with tension as Elijah watched her slowly unbutton his shirt. She ran her hands over his exposed chest, enjoying the patch of hair and the hard muscle beneath her palms.

He slowly lifted her dress over her head, letting it fall to the floor. She wore nothing but a lacy, white bra and a pair of matching panties. Elijah had the fleeting but completely irrational thought that she was an angel. So beautiful, so delicate, yet somehow, he could already tell, she would burn brighter than any sun.

He pulled off his opened shirt, and she moved onto his belt. He watched her fumble before she managed to remove it, then she slid her hands into his waistband, tugging down his pants. They fell around his ankles, and he stepped out of them. He was still wearing his underwear, but it did little to hide his erection. She didn't want to stare, but she couldn't help herself. He was... well endowed, and she felt her nerves start to rise again. 

He didn't give her a chance to overthink, instead, he pulled her to the bed, pressing her down on the soft mattress, his body on top of hers. She ran her hands over his skin, exploring his chest, his arms, the hard planes of his back. Elijah let her explore, her curiosity was sweet, and it stirred something in him that he had not felt in a very long time.

She wrapped her legs around him, her hands weaving through his hair, tugging gently. He let out a low growl and reached behind her back, unhooking her bra, tugging it off, throwing it on the floor.

Elena's nipples were hard, and her breathing was shallow. He took one in his mouth, gently sucking and rolling the other one with his fingers. She let out a small moan, arching her back, pushing her breasts further into his mouth.

Elijah hummed and switched his attention to the other breast. He reached down and slowly pulled off her panties, tossing them somewhere behind him. Smiling as his hands roamed over her, sliding over her thighs, squeezing her ass, hooking her leg around his waist.

She let out a breathy sigh as his hand moved between her legs, teasing her, sliding two fingers inside her.

Her fingers dug into his biceps, her eyes locked with his. He watched the way her vampiric nature took over, the whites of her eyes growing dark, her veins pulsing beneath the surface of her skin.

"You're such a pretty little vampire," he whispered, leaning down and pressing his lips to hers. "Let me see all of you."

She moaned and her fangs slowly appeared, her eyes shifting, turning black and red.

He smirked and nipped at her lip, drawing blood. She gasped, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, tasting the metallic sweetness.

He continued to finger her, slow and steady, enjoying the way her walls clenched around him. His thick fingers filling her, stretching her, making filthy wet noises that made her blush.

"You like that, don't you?" he teased, his thumb rubbing her clit in a slow circular motion. "I can feel how wet you are. How your body keeps trying to pull me in deeper."

Her eyes fluttered shut, and her mouth dropped open as she started rocking her hips, trying to grind against his hand. He kept the pressure firm and consistent, the pleasure building.

"’lijah..." She moaned, her voice breaking. "That feels so good..."

Elijah chuckled, his eyes never leaving her face. He added another finger and watched her squirm.

"Look at me," he whispered.

Her eyes flew open, and she stared up at him. The black of her eyes nearly consumed her irises, the veins in her face protruded. It was a beautiful sight, the contrast of her innocence and her dark nature. He was enraptured by it.

"There you go," he murmured, his pace never wavering.

He curled his fingers and she gasped, her body tensing, her walls tightening around his fingers. She was getting close. He leaned down and kissed her and she moaned. Her hands grabbed at his face, deepening the kiss, tasting him. He kept the pressure constant, the pace steady, and her body responded. She went rigid, her muscles clenching as she came.

"Oh,." she cried, her voice trailing off into a strangled moan.

Elijah didn't stop. Instead, he kept his fingers buried inside her, kissing down her body. With his free hand he lifted her thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders, burying his face between her legs.

Elena's eyes went wide, her body trembling, and she tried to scramble backwards, away from his mouth. The sensations overwhelming. But he held her in place, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer and she melted under his tongue. 

He slowly began to lick and suck at her, his tongue dipping in and out of her. He worked her over until she was a writhing mess beneath him. She had never been so thoroughly eaten out, and the intensity of it was making her dizzy.

His fingers still pumped in and out of her, and he could feel her starting to get close again. She was practically gushing around him, her arousal dripping down his chin

She grabbed at his hair, her body bucking against him, her back arching. Her orgasm came on like a wave, and she rode it out, her toes curling, legs trembling.

When the tremors finally stopped, Elijah sat up, wiping his mouth and smirking down at her. Her face was crimson, her breathing ragged. He couldn't remember ever seeing anything more beautiful. He would be more than happy to spend the entire night with his head buried between her legs, listening to her moan and cry.

Elena was still panting, her brain still foggy. Her legs were shaking, her muscles aching, and she was certain her bones had melted. 

Her breathing evened out as he kissed his way back up her body, stopping to nip at her stomach, her breasts, her neck. The thought of him being inside her made her clench with anticipation. But she couldn't possibly let him fuck her before returning the favor. Elena was not a selfish lover in the slightest. 

She sat up, putting her hands on his chest, and pushing him backward, guiding him onto his back. He raised an eyebrow but complied, leaning back against the headboard, watching her. 

"Can I...?" she started, her eyes shifting down to his lap.

Elijah followed her gaze and chuckled.

"You don't have to, Elena." He said softly, the way her name rolled off his tongue was almost sinful.

"But I want to," she murmured as she leaned over him, her lips brushing his, her fingers moving down his abdomen, dipping into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down.

He hissed as his erection sprang free, the cool air hitting his hot skin. Elena swallowed, trying to ignore the rush of nervousness, and gently took his cock in her hand.

With Stefan and Damon, she had always enjoyed going down on them, loved the way it made her feel powerful, loved making her partner feel good. She felt a little more confident about this, and was eager to impress Elijah.

Her eyes met his as she leaned forward, taking the tip into her mouth. He inhaled sharply, his fingers tangling in her hair, tugging her closer.

She started to bob her head up and down, her hand following the rhythm of her mouth as she worked him deeper. Elijah groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as his hips jerked forward, pushing his cock further into her throat.

She gagged, a choked sound escaping before she pulled back, swallowing hard. Elijah exhaled sharply, his grip easing as his thumb brushed over her cheek in silent apology.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice rougher now. "Got carried away."

She let out a breathless laugh, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"It’s fine," she assured him, flashing him a teasing grin. "I like it when you get carried away."

His eyes darkened at that, the muscle in his jaw flexing.

"Do you?" he asked, his voice softer now, more intent.

She didn’t answer. At least not with words. 

Instead, she gripped his thigh for balance and took him back into her mouth, this time with even more eagerness, relaxing her throat as she let him use her as much as he pleased. His eyes were fixed on her, watching as her lips slid up and down his length,sucking and licking expertly. He was impressed, she wasn't as timid as he would have expected.

He did his best not to compare her lips to Katherine's, but it was difficult considering they shared a face. Katherine was wild, aggressive, assured. Like she needed to prove a point. With Elena, it was different.

There was a sense of playfulness, of exploration. She was curious, and her enthusiasm was evident. Elena had her own way of doing things, she was so gentle and sweet, her movements careful and deliberate.

He found her to be incredibly sensual, the way her fingers brushed over his skin, the way she looked up at him through her lashes, the way her tongue flicked over the tip of his cock. He was lost in her.

He closed his eyes and groaned, his hands gently tugging on her hair, guiding her rhythm. She hummed in response, her throat vibrating around him.

"Elena," he groaned, her name sounding like a prayer.

His head fell back, and he bit his lip, holding himself together, his muscles tensing.

Elena's hand reached out, taking hold of his thigh. She could feel his muscles straining, his pulse quickening. She knew he was close. She increased her pace, bobbing her head up and down, her nails digging into his skin.

Elijah groaned, and his hands fisted in her hair, his body tense. Then he gasped, his grip tightening as his cum spilled down her throat. She swallowed eagerly, milking every last drop. When he stopped, she released him, wiping her mouth, grinning.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes dark and glassy. She smiled up at him, kissing along his lower stomach, making her way up his body. When she reached his lips, she leaned down and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her, rolling her underneath him, deepening the kiss.

Her body was so soft and warm, fitting perfectly underneath him. He was going to make sure not to waste this moment, to commit every inch of her skin to memory.

They just kissed for a while, Elijah's fingers tracing patterns on her skin as they became tangled in the sheets, their limbs entwined. There was a charge in the air. A crackling fire. Something neither of them had felt before. Something primal, yet comforting. And neither wanted it to end.

Elena broke the kiss, giggling softly.

"What is it?" he asked, smiling, his thumb tracing over her bottom lip.

"Nothing," she murmured, looking down. "I just didn't think you would be so... sweet."

Elijah arched a brow, smirking.

"And what did you think I would be like?"

She blushed and bit her lip.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I guess I expected you to be a bit... rougher."

He grinned and shook his head, leaning in and kissing her again. His hands moved down her sides to her hips, pulling her against him aggressively, making her gasp.

"I enjoy plenty of things, sweetheart," he whispered against her lips. "But tonight, I just want to savor you."

Elijah wasn't the type to boast. At least not about private matters. But he had been with enough women to know when someone enjoyed his company. And Elena was enjoying herself very much. He could tell by the way her pupils dilated, how her breaths were short, her chest rising and falling faster. He knew just how much of an effect he had on her, and it made him want her even more.

"Is that agreeable?" he asked teasingly, his lips brushing over hers.

Elena nodded and giggled again, her sweet little laugh filling his chest with warmth. He returned her smile, nudging her nose with his, nipping at her bottom lip.

His hands traced over her sides, slow and reverent, as if mapping the shape of her to memory. His lips hovered over hers, close enough that their breaths mingled, the space between them charged with something heavier than desire.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, softer this time. Not teasing, not testing her. Just asking.

Elena swallowed, her fingers curling deeper into his hair, anchoring herself to him. "Yes," she whispered, barely audible, but unwavering.

Elena parted her legs wider, drawing him in, her body welcoming his without a second thought. He exhaled sharply as he eased into her, slow and deliberate, filling her inch by inch. A quiet, breathless gasp slipped from her lips as she stretched around him, and his forehead pressed against hers, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Like he needed to focus, to feel this.

Like he needed to memorize this.

He rolled his hips experimentally, and they moaned in unison. Soft, drawn-out sounds that melted into the heated space between them. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, nothing else existed.

His hands found hers, pinning them to the mattress beside her head, interlacing their fingers. The intimacy of it made her blush, and she had to fight the urge to pull away. It wasn't that she didn't like it, or that it didn't feel right. It was because she didn't mean for this to feel intimate. This was supposed to be casual, meaningless.

But Elena's body betrayed her, her heart pounding in her ears, her moans were high and breathy. Her skin felt hot, and her hands gripped his, her hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

Elijah's eyes never left her face. His pace was steady, unhurried. He was in no rush, and the prolonged intimacy was making her dizzy. She felt her pleasure slowly mount, the pressure building between her legs.

This was so different from sex with her past partners. With Stefan, it was passionate and intense. It was always an emotional exchange. Their bodies connected as much as their souls.

And with Damon, it was rough, almost animalistic. He was hungry, greedy. His teeth and tongue biting and sucking and licking. A feral storm of lust and need would always erupt between them.

But this was something new entirely. This was sensual, slow, and patient. This was a lover's dance, a delicate give and take. And she was completely overwhelmed.

"Elena," he whispered, the tone of his voice causing her to clench around him.

"Elijah," she gasped.

He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue slipping past her parted lips.

"I know," he said, breaking the kiss. "Me too."

He held her gaze, his expression soft, affectionate. Loving in a way that frightened her.

She felt her climax approaching, and her legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. He let her lead, his movements slow, deliberate. His thumb stroking her knuckles, his eyes never leaving her face.

Her body trembled as her orgasm ripped through her. She let out a small, choked gasp, and she could feel her walls spasm around his cock.

He grunted, his grip tightening, his movements growing sloppy. His lips found hers, his tongue tangling with hers. She could feel his orgasm building, and she clung to him, riding out her own.

His pace became uneven, his hips thrusting erratically, his breath coming in short gasps. Then he groaned, burying his face in her neck, his release spilling inside her.

Elena was breathing heavily, her body trembling. She was surprised when he didn't pull out immediately. Instead, he stayed buried inside her, his face still buried in her neck. She could feel him still twitching, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around him.

After a moment, Elijah shifted, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that took her breath away. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he was still holding her hands.

His fingers slowly untangled from hers, and he eased out of her, rolling onto his back next to her. She moved towards him, laying beside him, resting her head on his chest and looking up at him. His hair was disheveled, his eyes half-closed, his breathing heavy. She had never seen him look so unkempt, so relaxed.

Elena watched him for a few moments, taking in the sight of him. Then she let out a laugh, burying her face in his chest, her body shaking with giggles.

"What's so funny?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

"Just thinking about how we met," she murmured, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

He smirked. "Ah, yes. I tried to kidnap you. And your boyfriends killed me," he said dryly, heavily emphasizing the word 'boyfriends'.

Elena rolled her eyes and slapped his chest playfully. "Technically, I've killed you too."

"And technically," he countered, arching a brow, "you did so under duress."

"Still," she mused, trailing her fingers over his chest. "I thought you were terrifying. So sophisticated and unreadable. And now I’m…"

She trailed off, suddenly aware of how intimate this was. She was in his bed, draped over him, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of what they had just done. He was looking at her like he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

Elijah’s expression was still unreadable, but his eyes held something softer now. Something patient.

"And now?" he prompted gently.

Elena swallowed. "N-now I know you better."

She was falling. This was supposed to be a one-time thing. Casual sex, no strings attached. No emotions involved. But, damn. He was just too easy to get lost in.

It wasn’t quite the truth. It wasn’t quite a lie, either. Behind his serious, stoic exterior was this side of him that she couldn't stop thinking about. Underneath the suits, the power plays, and being in the most threatening family on the planet... Was a man with a big heart. A man who loved his family fiercely, who carried the weight of centuries with quiet grace. A man who could be tender, gentle, and funny. A man who kissed like he was savoring every second. Who made her feel…Too much.

She hesitated, then exhaled softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin. "I think..." she paused, biting her lip. "I think I don't want this night to end."

The confession passed her lips before she could stop it, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. But Elijah only smiled, his hand cupping her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

"Neither do I," he murmured.

Elena’s breath hitched. Her eyes flickered to his lips, then back to his.

"Wasn't this supposed to be a one-time thing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He let out a long sigh, his gaze wandering over her body before meeting her eyes.

"New Orleans is my home. And Mystic Falls is yours. But…" He exhaled, his fingers tracing along her jawline. "Perhaps there’s still room for… something in between."

Elena's eyes lit up. "You mean…?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm not exactly the best at casual flings." His cheeks colored slightly, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "But maybe we can see how things go. No pressure. No expectations."

She beamed up at him, and he chuckled before kissing her, slow and deep. She melted into him, arms draping around his neck, like she already belonged there.

"I'd like that," she murmured against his lips.

He hummed and pulled her closer, kissing her deeper. She sighed, her hands tangling in his hair.

They spent the rest of the night talking, teasing, kissing. Falling into each other again and again, until sleep finally stole them away.

As the sun rose, Elijah woke to find Elena curled up beside him, her head on his chest, their legs intertwined. For a long moment, he simply watched her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing. He had expected her to leave before dawn, to slip away like a fleeting dream, but she was still here. Still tangled up in him.

A slow smile tugged at his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. She looked so peaceful, so at ease.

He could get used to this.

The thought hit him harder than expected, and he forced himself to push it aside. No expectations, he had said. No pressure. But with her still curled up beside him, it felt like a lie.

Elena stirred, her nose scrunching slightly as she let out a soft sigh. Then, her eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep. She blinked up at him, her lips curving into a lazy smile.

"You're staring," she murmured, her voice soft and quiet.

"Observing," he corrected, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her back.

She hummed, nuzzling closer. "I like waking up like this… This feels… nice."

"Nice?" he repeated, amused.

"Yeah," she stretched against him, her body molding to his. "No drama, no chaos. Just… this."

Elijah exhaled slowly, he understood exactly what she meant.

"And how long," he mused, "do you suppose this peace will last?"

Elena smirked, tilting her chin up to kiss him. "I don’t know. But I’m not thinking about that right now."

He let out a low hum of agreement, pulling her closer. He told himself he should follow her lead. Stay in the present, keep things simple.

No expectations, no pressure.

But as she melted against him, her warmth sinking into his skin, Elijah already knew.

This was never going to be just one night.