#klausxreader

The chains are cold iron. Forged in witch-fire, they’re bolted deep into the stone wall of the old slaughterhouse turned Mikaelson lair. They rattle violently when you struggle, wrists rubbed raw from earlier attempts at freedom. Your ankles are forced wide by the spreader bar he snapped into place with a wolfish grin that never quite reached his eyes. The old bloodstains on the stones beneath your knees tell stories—none of them yours. Yet.

Klaus circles you in hybrid form—not fully wolf, not fully man, but something monstrous and ancient. His eyes glow molten gold, fangs glint beneath curled lips, claws clicking steadily on the stone as he paces. With every breath, he radiates barely restrained violence. His sweat-slick chest glistens under the moonlight, muscles taut and coiled, and the bulge in his trousers is shameless—throbbing, swollen, promising ruin.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice made of gravel and old smoke. “Chained like livestock. So fucking perfect I could tear you in half.”

You meet his gaze and spit at his feet. “Fuck you, Klaus.”

He laughs—a deep, guttural thing, like thunder rumbling low across the sky. His hand flashes up, claws glinting, and he backhands the spit aside, just missing your face.

“Oh, you will,” he promises darkly. “Over and over until you’re dripping with me, until your cunt is too sore to close, until your pretty little belly swells with my heir.”

He drops to his knees between your spread thighs, hands tearing the last scrap of your skirt clean off with ease. No panties, of course. He'd forbidden them the second he dragged you here, claiming bare made it easier to scent you. The night air kisses your cunt, soaked and shining. Shame prickles hotter than the full moon overhead.

“Pathetic,” he murmurs, dragging a single claw up the slickness between your folds. “Dripping for the monster who stole you. My little breeder. You want it. You’re aching for it.”

He leans in, fangs grazing the inside of your thigh, brushing your femoral artery. Then he bites—not deep, not enough to maim, but just enough to taste. You scream, high and involuntary, and he groans like it's the sweetest wine. His tongue laps the wound clean with rough strokes, sealing it with a flick and a snarl of satisfaction.

“Gonna fill you so full,” he rasps, voice thick with lust as he shoves his trousers down. His cock springs free—thick, flushed dark, the knot already beginning to swell at the base, pulsing like a second heartbeat. “Gonna knot you right here, up against these filthy stones. Breed you until your womb forgets anyone else.”

He strokes himself lazily, precum dribbling onto his knuckles. He uses it to smear your clit in messy circles. You flinch, chains clattering, but the spreader bar keeps your thighs wide and vulnerable. Your muscles tremble, caught between fear and desperate need.

“Beg,” he commands, voice snapping like a whip.

You bare your teeth. “Make me.”

His smile is pure predator. No more patience. You have just enough time to draw one breath—sharp, uncertain—before he lunges. He slams into you.

One savage thrust, no warning, spearing deep enough to steal your breath. The stretch is brutal. He’s too thick, too hard, and yet your cunt grips him greedily, slick walls tightening like you’ve been waiting for this. Like your body already belongs to him.

“There’s my good little whore,” he growls, pace unrelenting, hips snapping with vicious force. “Taking my cock like the needy little bitch you are. Born to be filled by a hybrid. Born to carry my pups.”

He pounds into you like he wants to leave bruises on your soul. Each thrust slams your back against the wall, chains scraping against stone, metal groaning with the force. His claws dig into your hips, forcing you to angle just right so he can grind that swollen knot against your cunt, stretching you wider with each punishing stroke.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and dangerous. “Say you’re mine. Say you’re my breeding bitch.”

You sob, head lolling back, pleasure a razor-edge tearing through your spine. “I’m—fuck—I’m your breeding bitch—”

His roar shakes the courtyard.

He fucks you harder, faster, until your world dissolves into nothing but his cock, his voice, the smell of blood and musk. His thumb finds your clit and rubs mercilessly until your body breaks—cunt clenching around him in spasms, milking him, your cry ragged as it rips from your throat.

The knot slams in.

He shoves deep and locks in place, sealing your bodies together. Then he comes—loud, growling, hips twitching as thick, hot spurts flood your womb. You feel every one. He grinds through it, knot tugging and swelling even more, ensuring not a drop escapes.

He stays there, panting against your neck, his cock throbbing inside you.

Then he begins to move again, slowly at first—deep, grinding rolls of his hips that churn the cum inside you, as though breeding you wasn’t enough unless he could feel it take.

You gasp, overstimulated, but he doesn't stop. His hand rises to your throat, holding—not choking, just anchoring.

“You thought one knot would be enough?” he breathes. “No, sweetheart. We’re going to stay here until I’m sure it took. Until you can feel me dripping from your cunt every time you move.”

He licks the bite mark again, then the tears on your cheeks, reverent in his filth.

“Mine,” he says, again and again, almost tender. “Mine. My filthy little vessel. My perfect fucktoy. My breeder.”

The chains stay on all night. He knots you three more times before dawn.

By morning, the moon has dipped below the bloodstreaked skyline, its pull retreating but not released. The scent of iron and jasmine lingers thick in the air, clinging to your skin like sweat. The chains bite into your wrists, still locked, the iron cold and unyielding. Your legs quake, sticky with his claim, hips bruised where claws held tight.

Giggles passed through your lips as your father quickly joined the hug. "We made your favorite!"

--

As the day went on, you were greeted by "Happy Birthday" almost everywhere you went. Your cheeks had become sore from all the smiling you had done.

Walking to join your small group of friends, they were speaking in hushed tones not wanting outsiders to hear the topic of conversation. Frowning, nobody from the group had seemed to notice your presence. As of late, they had been more concerned with all things Elena.

Frowning, you let out a frustrated sigh. You held out hope that they would remember that it was your birthday rather than keep their attention on Elena.

--

As dusk fell upon the town, you had decided to take a stroll around town enjoying the memories that popped out at you.

A warm hand clasped over your mouth, as panic coursed through your veins. Your chest rapidly rising and falling as you were tugged against a firm chest, a familiar cologne filled your senses. Your hands wrapped around the stranger's fingers and wrist attempting to pry it away from your face while muffled screams fell past your lips.

The strangers' chuckles filled your ears. "Relax love." Their accented voice whispered close to your ear. Releasing you from his grip, you whirled around sending him a glare.

"Klaus!" You whisper yelled. "What the-"

"I heard it was your birthday." He grinned, sending you a mischievous gaze.

Groaning you rolled your eyes. "Look, whatever it is you're planning to do-"

"What makes you think I care about you,  love?" He questioned tilting his head slightly, raising a questioning eyebrow at you.

It didn't take long before you felt your face drop. Your heart falling into your stomach as your eyebrows furrowed together. "I...Uh, well." Your mind began racing as your jaw opened and closed several times. Once your mind came to a halt, you let out a huff turning on your heel readying yourself to retreat in the opposite direction.

"Love." His voice sounded much softer than it had a few minutes ago. His firm hand grasping gently around your wrist, preventing you from retreating. "I do...Care about you."

Gasping, you turned to face him, as his face was etched in a softness that you hadn't seen before.

"I care about you a lot more than I should, actually."

"Klaus..." Your voice trailed off. "We...We can't..." You frowned, dropping your gaze to your feet as they suddenly became interesting.

Klaus placed a hand along your jaw forcing your gaze towards him. His actions took you by surprise as you hadn't been this close or intimate with him before.

His figure towered above you. Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. Nuzzling your cheek further into his touch. Taking you by surprise, his nose gently nuzzled yours.

"I would never forget your birthday, Love."

Your eyes fluttered open as you grinned at him. Standing on your tippy-toes, you placed a chaste kiss upon his cheek.

"Let's go somewhere more private."

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The flickering light of the fire painted Klaus in molten gold and shadow, a predator lounging in velvet darkness, his glass of bourbon balanced effortlessly between his fingers. You had faced him before in battle, sharp words, sharper blades—but here in this room, the only weapon he needed was his voice.

“Look at me, love,” he said, tone as smooth as the liquor he sipped. “Eyes on mine. That’s it.”

You tried to resist, tried to keep your focus anywhere else, but his voice threaded through your skull like silk wound around a throat, pulling tighter with every syllable. His blue eyes gleamed, ancient and merciless, and you felt your muscles slacken as the compulsion sank deep.

“Good girl.” His smile was slow, dangerous. “Now, undress. Slowly. Let me watch.”

Your hands trembled as you obeyed, each button unfastened more torturous than the last, every inch of skin bared under his gaze making heat pool low in your belly. Klaus leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossed casually over his knee, drinking in every shiver, every flicker of hesitation with unholy satisfaction.

“Do you hear yourself?” he murmured when a whimper escaped your lips. “Even your body begs while your mind pretends it resists. You can’t fight me, sweetheart. Not when you like being seen.”

His command slid deeper, compulsion blooming through your nerves until you were stroking yourself under his gaze, your fingers slick, your thighs trembling as you squirmed, moaning his name. He didn’t move, didn’t touch, only watched with a wolf’s hunger, every sound you made feeding the fire in his eyes.

“Nnnnh—Klaus, please—” you gasped, trying to find friction, trying to climax under the weight of his stare.

“Not yet.” The order hit like iron shackles. Your body seized, your orgasm denied at the very edge, and you whimpered helplessly as the pleasure was stolen from you. He chuckled darkly, rising finally from his chair, moving behind you with inhuman swiftness. His breath grazed your ear, his hand ghosting over your hip without granting you the touch you craved.

“Your climax belongs to me. You’ll come when I say you may. And not before.”

The thrill of it—his control, his voyeuristic delight, the burn of denial—left you quaking, tears pricking your eyes, body desperate to give in.

“Say it,” Klaus whispered, his voice velvet steel wrapping your mind in chains. “Say you belong to me. Say you’ll come only for me.”

Your voice broke on the words, sobbed out in surrender. His smile curved against your throat, fangs grazing your skin as he finally whispered: “Come.”