i am here, there, nowhere

1987

When you and Michael started dating about two years ago, the very first thing he warned you about was the press.

Hell, he outright refused to date you at first because of the press and they’re meddling.

The two of you met at your job at the animal shelter, when Michael came in to spend time with some of the animals. He was very shy, but said hello to each worker one at a time nevertheless. The two of you locked eyes before he actually reached you in the line you and your coworkers had formed, and when he did reach you, his small smile grew bigger. He visibly inhaled through his nose as he shook your hand, his thumb caressing the skin there.

“Are you wearing perfume?” He had asked. You still remember the way his gentle voice curled and flew around you like wind upon hearing it up close for the first time, and the way your stomach did that loopy thing that usually only happens when you drive over a hill or something.

Your free hand reached up and absentmindedly grabbed at your necklace as you processed his words, a habit you didn't even notice you had. The necklace was a dainty, gold plated chain with a small sun charm. It was something cute and cheap that you found at a market, something that seemed good quality.

“I am," You nodded, "My friend gifted it to me for my birthday, I don’t remember the name. It’s something fancy.”

The two of you continued to hold each other’s hand, despite the handshake having been long over. “Something fancy,” He repeated. He looked down at his feet for a moment, then scanned his eyes up to land on your lips. Then your eyes.

He smiled. “I like fancy.”

Your instigating coworkers demanded that you be the one to give him a tour of the whole place after that.

Alone, the two of you walked throughout the entire building as you lead him to some of the most precious animals. You introduced him to a three-legged kitten, who he laid on his stomach to pet, and even taught him how to handle the shelter’s most energetic dog, an Australian Shepherd bamed Lucy. You and Michael ended up on the floor, Lucy’s wet snout excitedly sniffling back and forth between your faces. When she sniffed you, paused, then snorted the biggest inhale either of you have ever heard in your lives, you both fell into a loud fit of laughter. Through your wheezing, you giggled, “Animals are truly the best friends.”

It was then that Michael’s interest in you set off like a lit firework fuse. Looking over at you, he agreed nonchalantly, but you felt the energy there. It felt kind of fuzzy, and you liked it.

He didn’t revisit in person again after that day, as the fans would definitely crowd up the shelter if he did, but he had begun to consistently send in donations. Money, food, toys, supplies. You name it and he’d send it.

He’d also send letters for you. It started friendly, and actually remained that way right until you gave him your phone number. Something changed between you after that.

Or maybe it was always there, and electrified even more the night he first called you. It'd been late at night, and you sat on your balcony, looking up at the moon as you both spoke to each other. It started as a silly conversation, before blooming into something flirtatious. Something deep and raw and real.

He took you out on plenty different kinds of dates and remained a gentleman the whole time, showering you with a type of affection you’ve never received before. Honestly, you were starting to doubt that men like Michael existed before you met him.

Then, right when things had begun to really take off between you both, the press decided to bite.

It was a cruel release. A bunch of bullshit words about Michael’s face and skin, littered all over the media. You reminded him that the tabloids didn’t know anything about him. That they’d photoshop and twist every little thing they could to fit their fake stories. You told him that you knew him, saw him, and liked him for him.

He broke it off with you anyways. Plain and simple, like all the letters, calls, and dates meant nothing.

Unfortunately for him, however, you had different plans. Stubborn as ever, you glued yourself to the door before he could leave and forced him to talk to you about what was going on. You knew he wouldn't be able to move you without getting forceful, and if there's one thing Michael's NOT, it's forceful.

You begged him, through your sobs, to tell you what he was feeling. It was unbearable for Michael to watch you cry so desperately, especially since it was because of him. He admitted that him attempting to leave wasn’t out of malice or because of a lack of attraction. It wasn’t even because of what the press would say about him.

It was about what the press would say about you.

He tried leaving you as a way to protect you, but it's always been impossible for you to stay away from each other, and after a long life of always doing things to avoid the media, you pleaded with him to finally do something for himself.

He warned you, seriously, that the press were a bunch of blood-sniffing sharks. That if they learned you were with him, the two of you would become a package deal, and they’d try to tear you apart in any way they could. He drilled it into your head as best as he could. You didn’t care.

Two years later, and you still don’t. Not really.

You’d deal with the press again and again in every lifetime if it meant being with Michael. He’s kind, sensual, and attentive; exactly what you’ve dreamed of in a boyfriend since you were a little girl. He devotes a lot of his time towards you, surprises you with extravagant gifts, and does silly little things that make you feel like you’re floating every now and then like forcing you to slow dance with him under the chandelier near the staircase. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

But sometimes when you’re alone, on the nights when he’s out preforming or working or whatever it may be, it’s hard to ignore what the world has to say about you. And lately, they’ve had a lot to say about your body.

You’re not as skinny as you used to be. Certainly not as thin as when you and Michael first met. But he loves to take you to dinner and surprise you with meals and treats! Of course you were gonna gain a few extra pounds, it was sort of inevitable! You try reminding yourself that this is a natural part of life, and that the press doesn’t know what they’re talking about when they make stupid, hurtful comments about your hips and thighs.

A specific headline jumps out to scare you in your own head. “Michael Jackson’s fat and unlovable girlfriend.”

…Ouch.

Insecurity slithers in the core of your chest and tightens around your soul like a snake. A terrible feeling settles underneath your muscles, like it plans to stay there. It does.

“Ay Mike!”

Jackie’s voice booms outside of Michael’s bedroom door in Hayvenhurst, causing both you and Michael, who’s tidying up his room before bed, to jump in shock. It tears you out of the spiral you were going down and snaps you back to the present. “Is the ice cream in the freezer for your lady or can I have it?”

Michael turns to look at you from where he’s putting a couple of shirts away into his dresser, one eyebrow raising in a silent offer. His button up shirt is hung open, showing off his chest and abdomen. From where you’re seated on his bed, using your handheld mirror so you can wipe your makeup off, you bite your lip. The idea of ice cream makes your stomach rumble, a sudden craving for it rising inside of you. You’re sure it’s your favorite kind, the Jacksons always have your favorite ice cream in stock.

A voice in your head forbids you. “No, thank you, I’m alright,” You decline.

Michael nods, but before he can give Jackie the go-ahead, you babble, “I gotta lose some weight, anyways. 'M gettin' fat.”

There's a pause, stillness blanketing the air.

Then, both Michael and Jackie, who is still on the other side of the door, bark out an astonished "Huh?"

You glance between your man and the bedroom door, slowly lowering the hand that’s holding up the mirror. “What?” You ask.

“Why would you say that?” Michael questions.

You swear your brain short-circuits, and when you realize what exactly you just said, you curse yourself internally. “Well, you know…”

A small frown grows on Michael’s lips after a moment and he shuts the dresser drawer with a smooth, single slide. “Well I know… what?”

Heat crawls up your spine in the most uncomfortable way, embarrassment sinking deep beneath your cheeks in a crimson blush. You frown at the bedroom door.

Michael doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he calls out to his brother, “Leave the ice cream, please.”

You look back into your mirror and nervously continue to take off your makeup, dreading the conversation that you’re definitely about to have. The sound of Jackie’s retreating footsteps echo in the room before it goes perfectly quiet.

Michael’s just looking at you.

You fumble around with your makeup cloth for a couple of seconds under his intense gaze, anxiety cascading down you like boiling water. You know he’s thinking about what you said, and you so did not plan on talking about this today.

Michael approaches carefully as you’re wiping the contour off of your cheek, placing both his hands on either side of your legs on the bed. He slightly hovers over you with a gentle smile. “Baby?”

You look at yourself closer in the mirror to avoid his stare. “Hm?”

“Can you look at me?”

“I’m taking off my makeup.”

Michael reaches up and clutches your chin with his thumb and index finger, gently turning your face to look at him. “Look at me, mama.”

Your heart skips a beat when your eyes fall onto his concerned ones, the peck to your lips that he gives you doing nothing to help the palpitations. “‘M looking at you,” You reply in a mumble, “you look good.”

He chuckles and removes his hand from your chin, placing it back down next to your leg. “So do you,” he says, starting to caress your knee. “My gorgeous girl.”

You frown, placing your things down onto the nightstand by the bed. You’re not sure why Michael's compliment feels like a strike, but you flinch like you’ve been slapped. Gorgeous girl.

Were you? Were you really?

Curling into yourself, Michael notices the way you deflate and moves to sit beside you. His hand pulls you in by your waist. “Woah, woah, hey,” he calls gently. “What is it, baby? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m sorry,” You apologize, huffing dramatically, “I’m being so stupid.”

You cover your face with your hands, exhaling sharply to keep your sudden tears at bay. It’s as if the moment someone asks you what’s wrong, something triggers inside of you and you break down. Forcefully squeezing your eyes shut, you will yourself to get a freaking grip.

Michael’s voice cuts through your foggy thoughts. “No, you’re not being stupid,” he reassures. The rich smell of his fragrance feels stronger now that he’s closer. In the back of your mind, you’re amazed by how long it’s lasted on him. “Will you please just look at me?”

Your teeth clench as you drag your head up, and when you see Michael’s stressed face you feel ashamed. He looks lost, confusion swimming in his eyes. Confusion that only intensifies when he sees your tears.

You feel your heart shrivel up inside your ribcage as your guilt eats away at you. You know, deep down, that he deserves to know what’s going on with his girl. If things were reversed, you’d sure want to know what was going on with him.

“The press- they... called me fat. And unlovable,” You hear yourself confess.

The sentence comes out of you on it’s own, punching through your chest with a kind of force that makes your lungs sore. You watch as Michael’s eyes widen a fraction before shuts them calmly, as if he’s trying to regain his composure. He moves one of your hands to his mouth, kissing your knuckles as you continue speaking. “It wasn’t just that. They, um, used a lot of other names and words too. I just- …that’s what it all pretty much summed up to.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” He sighs, opening his eyes again. “If the press can’t even show respect towards someone as lovely as you, I think it’s safe to say that anything coming out of them is a lie.”

You nod once, weak and unconvincing.

He pins you with a look so genuine and loving that it makes your stomach do that same loopy thing it did when you first met him. “And you know that, right? You know that you’re perfect as you are?”

You shrug. His words feel nice, like warm sun rays on a breezy day, but your insecurities can’t be so easily washed away.

“Pretty.”

You grunt grumpily. “What, Mikey?”

He leans in close, a few of his dark curls falling in front of his face. He looks down at your lips, at your blush-dusted cheeks, your cute nose, and scoffs. “There’s no way you- …you don’t actually believe what they’re saying, do you?” He asks incredulously.

The pent up anxiety thrumming deep in your bones paired with his disbelief makes you shoot up from the bed with a burning, humiliated look on your face. “And what if I do, Michael?! I mean, you’re everywhere! Everyone loves you, they want to see you with someone who- you know- you could have anyone--”

“I don’t want anyone but you,” Michael interrupts sternly. He’s sitting on the bed with his hands in his lap now, observing you as you begin to pace back and forth. The gravity of the situation seems to have finally hit him.

Your hand moves to absentmindedly grab at your necklace, this time an expensive pure gold chain with a diamond encrusted sun charm. It’s quite the upgrade from the one you bought at the market, and you haven’t taken it off since Michael had it made for you. “You deserve to have a girlfriend who’s… in your league, Mikey. Not some random that stuffs her face with ice cream and multiplies in size by the week.”

Michael’s hand shoots out to snag your wrist when you’re close enough, and he yanks you in, forcing you to stand between his open legs. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” He demands. The words are wrapped up in love, carried by the gentleness of his breathy voice, but there’s something bone-chillingly sobering beneath it. A no-nonsense tone that makes you bite the inside of your cheek, dropping your head down to look at the way his fingers are locked around your wrists. “Do y’hear me?” He nudges.

Tears free themselves from the corners of your eyes, and you sniffle pathetically. “I’m- I’m not as skinny as I was when we met,” You whisper brokenly. “I don’t look like that girl you first wanted anymore.”

Michael exhales slowly through his nose and shakes his head. His hands move to the front of your thighs, where he then slides them up to your hips. It’s almost as if he’s trying to memorize all of your curves with his fingers.

“Mama…” His voice drops impossibly softer. “It wasn’t your weight that I fell in love with when I met you.”

You try to wipe some of your tears away with a shaky hand. “Then what were you attracted to?”

He tugs you in and kisses at your navel over your brown pajamas. “I fell in love with the way you laughed,” He chuckles, squeezing your hips in his hands. You smile shyly. “The way you talked to and treated the animals. Called ‘em your friends.”

You bury a hand in his hair, toying with his curls while the fingers on your other hand trace the side of his face.

“And, you know I fell in love with you all over again when you heard my album for the first time. You’re so cute when you dance,” He flirts playfully. You roll your eyes, a wet laugh coming out of you despite how you’re feeling. Hearing Bad for the first time in the studio with Michael was one of your favorite memories.

“Well, so are you,” You sass.

Michael grins and lures you down so that you’re straddling his lap. “I’m serious, baby. You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever been blessed enough to see.”

You wrap your arms around his neck intimately, falling into the way he holds you closer. Your body feels so warm against his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The sensation of Michael's hands touching you all over makes you light headed. “I usually don’t care what the press has to say. I don’t know why this time it… felt different,” You say. You can feel Michael’s sadness in the way he places a gentle kiss against your collarbone.

“I spend my whole life with people tellin’ me what I should fix,” he responds. His hands flatten and settle at your lower back. “My face. My body. My personality. Everything. And I know…”

He trails off, sighing out a deep breath. “I understand what happens after a while. You hear so much terrible stuff from the world and one day it starts soundin’ like your own thoughts.”

You don’t know what to do with the devastated look on his face, so you just hug him. Burying your face into his shoulder, you tighten your arms around him and mentally face-palm. Of course he’d understand. Michael would understand more than anyone.

“There isn’t an inch of you that I’m not in love with,” He continues. “It doesn’t matter if you get heavier or thinner, sick or old. You’re my girl. I love you, mama.”

You feel so much. So much you can’t even speak, and you flatten your lips together in a thin line as you try your best to hold off a new wave of tears. It’s been two years, but hearing him tell you he loves you still doesn’t feel real. It feels like it did the first time he whispered them against your mouth in the dark, nervous and breathless.

Your brain and heart slow down into a patterned, easy rhythm, and your anxiety finally steps aside to let you breathe. It takes you a few minutes, but you eventually dig your head out from where it was stuffed into the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I love you, too, Mikey.”

He smiles, playfully gnawing at your shoulder. “I’d sure hope so, girl. This would be very awkward otherwise.”

You grant him a small, cute grin, toying with his button up. “And thank you for taking me seriously, baby. I’m sorry I’m so emotional.”

Michael shakes his head and takes ahold of your chin again. “‘S okay to be emotional,” He coos. He doesn't even think about it before he says it.

And just when you start to crave his kiss, he presses his lips against yours, effectively washing away any leftover pain aching in your chest. You melt into him, into the way he lightly groans into your mouth, and into the way he tilts his head to kiss you deeper.

He only stops long enough to take a breath before finding your mouth again like he’s addicted to it. “I can’t believe you even thought for a second that you weren’t attractive.”

Tilting your head, you ask, “Is it really that hard for you to believe that I could be insecure?”

“Uh, yes,” He answers pointedly, a lovesick smile stretching across his face when you start to mess with his curls again. “You’re Mrs. The Way You Make Me Feel. The pretty girl behind the song.”

You roll your eyes, failing to stifle the happy smile he brings out of you. You jokingly push his face away with your hand. “Sap.”

Michael only shoves his nose into your palm in response. A goofy, mischievous beam paints across his handsome face, and he starts to sing, “You knock me off of my feet, now, baby--”

“Mikey! I swear--”

He does his signature howl with full energy, making you squeal and basically fall over to the side with laughter. He falls with you, joy dancing in his eyes.

“It’s almost midnight and you’re being so loud like that!” You whisper-shout at him, still giggling. He’s got this smug, satisfied smirk on his face, so you poke at his chest. “Your family is sleeping! You could’ve woken up your mother!”

He cuddles you closer, until you’re almost laying on top of him, then turns your head to the side to drink in the smell of your skin by your pulse. He doesn’t bother responding. Instead, he just continues to kiss around your face, content to lay in silence with you.

Much later that night, after every last word is done being said, your head is tucked beneath Michael’s chin as the two of you lay tangled under the bed covers.

A calmness rocks within you. You feel ten times lighter than before. Michael’s fingers move up and down your back lazily, slow enough to make your eyelids heavy, and you’re thankful that your mind isn’t running at 60 miles per second anymore.

The bedroom is completely dark except for the distant glow of the world outside. In here, a different level of safety envelops you, one that only you and him can touch and feel. The cruel words from all of the tabloids and headlines still exist somewhere out there, but not in here.

Not when it’s just you and Michael.

You let your eyes flutter shut, your head on his chest. All the worries about the world and what they have to say about you seem so small compared to his steady heartbeat in your ear.

“I’ll still want the ice cream tomorrow,” You sleepily inform him.

Michael chuckles, scratching at your scalp lovingly.

Y/N’s boyfriend had lost it. He chained her up to the bed, despite her kicking and screaming. It was in a remote house in the middle of nowhere, just fields and woodland. Y/N was scared, she thought he was going to hurt her but instead, he left her there. Alone, unable to escape. The and cuffs were too tight around her wrists, she pulled at them for hours. Her hands ached, wrists even more swollen now.

She let out another scream, her voice a little raw now from dehydration and fatigue. She hit her head against the wall behind and began to fully sob. She didn’t know why he would do this. Leave her to die. Part of her wanted to keep screaming but she was also scared of who would find her and what they would do.

So she sat quietly against the headboard, eyes slowly closing as she tried to hope that everything would be okay.

That was when she heard footsteps. The floorboards were creaking, her eyes shot open and she was yelling out again.

“Is someone there!?” She screamed, her legs starting to kick against the bed to make some noise. “Help!”

Y/N fell quiet when a dog came into view. She stared at it, but the longer she looked the more she realised it was a wolf. Her tears came back and she tried to kick wildly at the animal to scare it away.

Klaus sat there patiently. He’d heard her calling out from miles away and due to his own curiosity, went looking. Now he certainly wasn’t expecting to find a pretty woman handcuffed to a bed, front door left open so the house was freezing. Slowly, he approached the bed. She was crying so much.

Klaus jumped up and came up beside her, gently sniffing her skin and trying not to come off as threat. Within a few minutes her cries had started to turn to heavy, tired breaths.

“Hi.” She sniffed and tried to move her hand to pet his head but she just winced when it wouldn’t let her. Klaus pushed his head forward into her hand, feeling her fingers gently scratch behind his ears. “You’re a good dog.” She whispered, a sniff of sadness still leaving her. Klaus turned his head to nuzzle her cheek. “You a boy?” She asked, clearly trying to distract herself. Klaus nodded his head as best he could making her laugh. His tail wagged against his will and he brushed up against her.

Y/N shivered slightly but smiled when he led across her lap. He was heavy but warm.

“Good boy.” She whispered, her body slowly relaxing under him. Klaus sniffed her gently, she was doused in perfume. His ears twitched as he sniffed down her legs. She shifted slightly and he pulled away, resting his head on her stomach again. “Stupid fucking men.” She sniffed and Klaus put his ears back, looking up at her. Her nose twitched and she looked back at him teary-eyed. “I thought we were fixing things.” She whispered. “He said he wanted to try something…thought it would make our relationship better.” Klaus growled softly, already hating this guy. “So I let him put these stupid things on and then he just…” her voice trailed and her eyes darted around.

Klaus lifted his head and licked her stomach gently through the silky material of the little dress she had on. She smiled, letting out a breathy laugh and leaning her head back. Klaus sat up, sniffing her face and wagging his tail. His tongue darted to lick her mouth on instinct making her squeak and laugh.

“Bad dog!” She scolded but she looked happy. Like for a second she wasn’t chained up and dying. Klaus licked her face again, his wolf getting excited easily when she laughed.

“Ahhh!” She screamed, kicking her legs and squirming. “Bad dog! No- no stop that!” She yelled when his wolf’s paws dug into her sides and his hips humped at her. Klaus barely comprehended what he was doing, he could just see her soft face and skin, feel her body generating energy, hear her excited calls and smell her sweet scent.

His mind only seemed to chime back in when his muzzle was pushed between her legs. Her dress was bunched up, legs around his head. Klaus groaned in his head, the sound coming out as a soft growl as he licked at her bare cunt.

“Oh god…” she whimpered, her pussy pulsing against his mouth. He licked up into her, feeling her soft walls clenching. Klaus pushed forward when her legs fell open. His mind became foggy except for the taste of her. His wolf nuzzled close, licking and sucking eagerly until she was crying out from pleasure.

His conscience came back again when he lapped up her orgasm. Klaus lifted his head, still kicking his lips. Y/N was in a haze. Eyes glazed over, chest rising and falling rapidly and legs still open. He got up and moved to lay directly on top of her, his face nuzzled between her breasts peacefully.

Klaus woke back up to her loud, uncontrollable screams. His body shot up, eyes on her and arms holding himself up. She kicked him in the stomach, hard. Klaus let out a winded grunt and looked down at his stomach.

“Bloody hell…” he muttered as he realised he was human.

“Get off me!” She screamed hysterically followed by continuous pleas for help.

“Love- love, it’s alright.” He tied but he knew how it looked. He was naked, on top of her. “Love, I’m the wolf.” He tried but she kept kicking at him, getting him to back off.

“Somebody HELP ME!” She screamed and he quickly grabbed the handcuffs, tearing the in half and off her wrists. Her arms dropped down and he expected her to hit him but she was weak. Her hands were near purple from lack of circulation. She whimpered, holding them to herself. Klaus quickly wrapped a robe around himself that had been hung on the back of a door.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, coming to sit back beside her. His hand gently stroked her arm. “I couldn’t untie you as a wolf and for some reason the damned thing wouldn’t let me turn back.” He chuckled, knowing damn well why his wolf wouldn’t turn back.

“What’re you talking about…” she sniffed, still rubbing her wrists.

“Don’t worry.” He murmured. “Let’s just get you home,” he came to her and gently slid his Ames around her to lift. “Where do you live?”

“Mystic Falls.” She whispered and he chuckled.

“Of course you do.” His head shook.

Y/N didn’t say too much as he carpeted her through the woods, he could see the sadness and the confusion in her face. She was hungry and thirsty and hurting. But eventually she looked up at him..

“Thank you.” She sniffled, “for saving me.”

“That’s alright love. You did a good job at screaming.” He chuckled and she smiled.

“Was…was there a dog in the room when you came back?” She asked, rubbing her eyes. He glanced down at her, knowing she was weak and probably just thought the whole thing was a hallucination.

“No” he murmured, “just me.”

“I should go to the police.” She mumbled, glancing back at the woods. “Will you come with me?”

Klaus looked down, seeing her eyes big and wet. He knew he should say no, because the police in Mystic Falls knew what he was. They wouldn’t believe a word out of his mouth. But she deserved to tell them and see her boyfriend be put away for what he’d done to her.

“Of course.” He nodded.

Sat in front of Sherif Forbes, Y/N beside him and holding onto his arm, Klaus explained what he’d seen. Sherif Forbes pulled Klaus aside, checking he wasn’t just making something up to distract the force. Klaus only scoffed.

“Look at her.” He muttered. “She must know Caroline, she can’t be much older.”

“No…I know.” She nodded, “they have English together.”

“Well whoever her boyfriend is or was, needs to be caught before he realises she isn’t dead.” He snapped before leaving the room, looking for her.

“Come on, love. I’ll get you home.” He held his hand out and she slowly stood, accepting his safety. She invited him in without hesitation, confirming she didn’t know about the supernatural, before heading up the stairs to her room. Klaus sat on her bed and watched as she pulled out some clothes. Her hands shook, her eyes watering and nose running. “Maybe we should put you up in a hotel or something.” He mumbled, frowning. “So you feel safe.”

“I can’t.” She sniffed. “They cost like a minimum of $80 a night around here.”

“I’ll cover that.” He got up, helping her grab things out.

“No, I-“

“Please, love. I don’t want to leave you here alone.” He murmured, looking at her with the most sincere expression he could muster. “If you’re so worried about pricing, you could stay at my house.” He offered and she shifted.

“I don’t know.” She glanced back at her bed. For a second he saw pure fear in her eyes.

“You’d have your own room.” He quickly told her, “there’s spare rooms.”

Klaus knew she was afraid, but she was more afraid of staying there alone. So he opened one of the spare bedrooms in his house and wheeled in her suitcase.

“Thank you so much for doing this.” She smiled at him, slightly nervous and awkward. Klaus just brushed it off and told her he’d make something to eat.

Whilst downstairs he began to realise what he was doing and recognised how unlike him it was. Klaus stood, pondering his actions for a moment before slowly putting a steak on the frying pan, letting it sizzle away whilst chips were tossed into the oven. Soon enough he was carrying a plate of food up for her, setting it down on the bedside table.

A smile crept onto his lips at the sight of her pajamas.

"Hungry?" He asked though he already knew the answer.

"Starving." Y/N nodded, knife and fork in hand. Klaus hummed, sitting beside her as she ate and drank away.

Y/N was too frightened to go to sleep, Klaus ended up sitting beside her all night, even held her hand. By morning she was exhausted and Klaus showed her around the house.

"I can't believe you have a whole room just for a piano." She laughed and Klaus hummed. "Do you play?" She questioned and his shoulders shrugged slightly.

"Only a little. My brother, Elijah, he plays well." Klaus nodded and she smiled.

"Where is he now?" She asked curiously.

"He left town, alongside the others. Only my sister Rebekah has stayed, though it would appear that she spent the night elsewhere." He nodded with a roll to his eyes making her giggle.

Klaus found some strange enjoyment in looking after Y/N. She wasn't repulsed by him like everyone else in town. Instead she treated him like he was just a kind man who had helped her. For once, he made someone feel safe rather than in danger. It wasn't something Klaus expected to like and yet there he was.

"You can stay for as long as you like." He smiled, pulling her closer to him on the couch.

"I've already been here for over a week. He's probably skipped town thinking he'll be done for murder if he comes back." She sighed but Klaus knew Y/N was still too scared to go home just in case her ex was waiting somewhere.

"Probably." Klaus nodded but he still shrugged. "Still, I enjoy your company. I'd be more than pleased if you stayed."

He held her gaze for a moment, watching her start to give in.

"Maybe just a couple more days?" She murmured and he smiled.

"Stay forever." He teased and she laughed. Though time did seem to move fast. Klaus always managed to convince her to stay. Within another week he'd kissed her, not long after that did he have her body beneath his. There was just one rule, not the bed.

He had pushed her down, hands stroking down the length of her body but when her hands went over her head, her fingers brushed the headboard, Klaus saw the pure fear take over. She was screaming for help, to get out.

So he made sure to only be intimate elsewhere. Usually the sofa, pulling her into his lap and giving her as much control as his body let him. Hands gentle against her hips, eyes on hers.

"That's it, love." He whispered, "Just like that." Y/N nodded, holding onto his shoulders tight as she rode him slowly. His hips lifted, taking her deeply to watch her mouth hang open.

It had started after home coming. Stefan had taken Klaus’s family and Klaus had been interrogating all of us about where they were; where Stefan was.

He got so close when he was mad, his voice quiet yet harsh when he’d whisper his threats and his plans. I didn’t mean to glance at his lips, couldn’t help the way my tongue darted to wet my own. When I looked back up, his irises were almost five shades darker; like the ocean now rather than the sky. I had opened my mouth to tell him I didn’t know where Stefan or the coffins were, but no sound seemed to come out. I could barely register what had happened, all I knew was that my back was against the wall and his lips were on mine.

It was purely instinctual when my legs wrapped around his hips, the sounds that rolled of my tongue were involuntary. Even once his mouth left mine I couldn’t regain control, his teeth were all over my neck just nipping the skin. I rest my head back against the wall, eyes barely open as I glanced at the door. Damon could’ve come home at any moment, Elena might’ve turned up. But I couldn’t have started to care about that.

I let out a small hiss in slight pain when I felt the skin of my throat break, but the sting was soon soothed by the warmth of his tongue. The sensation continued down my collarbone, his face soon against my cleavage.

Summer had passed but it was still warm out, I remember being grateful for that when my dress was bunched up to my waist. A moan had left me when his finger pads stroked over my folds, I hadn’t even felt him tug my underwear aside. I looked down but his eyes were still closed, mouth sucking dark marks onto the top of my breast. My own mouth only hung open when his fingers sunk inside me, his thumb searching for barely a second before it was circling my clit.

His hand only teased, warming me up before he was pulling back enough to tug his belt open. Still, I couldn’t find it in me to push him away, to even consider the morals in question surrounding what I was doing. Instead, my own fingers fumbled to undo his jeans.

My hands went behind his neck, as if he might drop me but his supernatural strength was evident when he held me with one hand firmly under my thigh. I slid up the wall slightly when he thrust, his hips pushing me up. A winded gasp left me, my hands looking for something to grab. A groan left him when I clutched his hair the back of his head, pulling him to look up. Each thrust was hard but slow.

My legs tightened around him, my hips pushing back slightly whilst my back curved in. I tried not to look at him, not to acknowledge who was making me feel so good. Klaus only took it as a prompt to attach his mouth back to my neck, sucking so hard that I worried for a second that he was going to feed from me.

I could feel my chest rise and fall, hear my own pants as I felt the tension inside me snap. When I let out a cry, his hand clamped down over my mouth, effectively hushing me. My eyes shifted, looking back into his as he pressed his finger to his own lips as a ‘shush’ motion.

I frowned slightly, confused before hearing Damon’s voice ring through, Elena’s echoing after. My eyes stung when I felt him pull out. Slowly, his hand left my face and he lowered my legs down to the floor. They shook slightly when my panties went back over my now soaked cunt, my dress tugged down to cover my thighs. I felt the shame hit fast and hard, my eyes falling to the floor as I heard my friends getting closer. When I looked back up, Klaus was gone.

“Jesus Christ.” Damon laughed and I quickly looked to him, alarmed and slightly afraid. “Rough night?” The grin on his face only widened as he came over, running a finger down the side of my thoroughly bruised neck.

“You’re seeing someone!?” Elena questioned, her eyes wide as she glanced me down. I felt both their eyes linger on my chest before Damon let out a low whistle.

“You know, most ladies cover up after being…handled so roughly.” His tone was teasing and I forced a laugh forward. My face felt hot, my legs still weak as I pushing him back slightly and walked round him to the couch.

I continued to be harassed over who it was that did it. By the next day, Elena had told Caroline and Caroline had told everyone.

They all refused to give me their blood to heal the marks, unless I told them who it was and I knew they’d hear my heart skip if I lied so I stuck it out and subjected myself to turtle necks even in the heat outside.

When I wondered into the grill, I seemed to find Klaus instantly and he too was staring straight back from his place at the bar. Without another thought, I ended up turning around and leaving. Yet I only made it down one street before I was pulled down a little alleyway. Instinctively, I tried to scream but once against his hand fell over my mouth.

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s me.” He whispered, his eyes much more relaxed than mine.

“What’re you doing?” I asked once his palm had left my face.

“Don’t be like that, now love.” He chuckled, the sound low but smooth as he curled a finger into the top of my turtle neck to tug it down. His marks had faded to a pale green over the last week. “You’ve been covered up for days.” He muttered, his finger tip now stroking the skin.

“Yeah well I’ve been called all sorts when people see it.” I scoffed though I didn’t sound as annoyed about it as I’d intended. Klaus only let out a quiet hum before leaning his head down to suck the colours back to life. “Klaus-“ I whined, my hand pressing to his chest but not quite pushing him back.

“Shh” he breathed again before his tongue slid along my skin. A breathless moan left me and again, my head went back. My body welcomed him too much for my mind to tell it to stop.

“Someone will see…” I mumbled, but not truly caring.

“If you’d rather be at my house-“

“No” my head shook, I couldn’t. It would be too real if I was in his house, his room, his bed.

Instead we ended up in a hotel. His body pressing me into clean sheets, my head nestled against a weak pillow whilst he sucked new marks down my stomach.

“Stop shaking” he chuckled and I closed my eyes.

“Don’t talk.” I whispered, if I couldn’t hear him and I didn’t look at him then I could pretend it wasn’t him at all.

Just a faceless, nameless being between my legs. I held the sheet instead of his hair when his tongue curled into me, moaned anything except his name as my hips rocked against his head.

Klaus only seemed to find amusement in my attempt to detach.

“If you don’t want to look at me, then I won’t let you.” He murmured against the back of my neck as he pushed my shoulders down and my face against the bed. I breathed heavily when my hips were lifted up and back. Soon I had no air left in me.

His pace was always brutal, whether it was slow or fast, it was still hard; deep. I could barely breathe, couldn’t think at all. It was euphoric.

Klaus didn’t seem to care for the emotional side either, instead he just wiped me gently and pulled his clothes back on. “The room is paid for all night.” He would always inform me before making his swift exit. I always slept at the hotel, wouldn’t even attempt to walk until the day after.

I felt guilty when with Elena or any of the others but I also couldn’t help but think about him, his hands or his mouth. I tried desperately not to think of his cock.

When he got his family back and they woke, I received an envelope with my name in his hand writing. It was a simple invitation to the ball, just asking for a dance. When asked by Elena, I said I got an invitation like most of the town but it didn’t say anything else. I felt like she could tell I was lying but she didn’t push it. None of them did.

Nobody asked why I was so reluctant and anxious. Nobody cared that I split off from the others to head straight for the table full of champagne. None of them saw the way his hand came to squeeze my behind when he appeared behind me, his other hand on my waist as he guided me across the floor whilst I held a glass in each hand.

“You seem nervous, love.” He murmured, his voice already amused as I necked the first drink.

“Stop touching me.” I whispered, quickly looking around to make sure nobody was looking.

“You don’t usually mind.” He muttered, his jaw slightly tenser when I looked back at him. We lapsed into a silence before his mother called for a toast and he was called up to the staircase. When he came back down, he walked straight past me to dance with someone else. He hadn’t cared before that I didn’t want to be seen with him, he knew why. But his ego was large and evidently, easy to bruise especially in a public space.

With a sigh I found Stefan, who had been rejected my Elena for Damon. I ended up being spun into klaus’s arms halfway through anyway.

“Shall I let you go or will you allow it?” He questioned, a cockiness to his tone as his grip on my waist tightened.

“Don’t be a child.” I murmured and he scoffed. “Klaus.” I warned, holding his hand a little tighter when he began to pull away. It would’ve caused more of a scene if he stormed off in the middle of a dance.

“Don’t scold me like-“ kissing him was the only way I knew how to shut him up. It was only brief, and only light but it worked as I expected. He was quiet for the rest of the dance, his hold firm but far less tense. “I wanted to show you something.” He mumbled as the dance came to an end and his head bowed down to my hand.

“Where?”

“Upstairs.”

I expected him to pull me into his room, to have me on his bed in an instant but instead I was led into a room decorated in art. Faced with a table scattered with sketches of me, my face, my body, in sex and in sleep. I felt my cheeks flush with warmth at the image of my face contorted with pleasure and my breasts on display.

“You did these form memory?” I asked thought I knew he must’ve, he’d never brought a sketchbook with him before.

“I think of you regularly. I draw you to stop myself from fucking my fist any longer.” He teased with a laugh and I couldn’t help but smile with a similar amusement.

“Do I not give you enough?” I raised a brow and his head shook, a grin on his mouth.

“Not nearly.” In another case I might’ve been offended but I knew what he meant. “I crave you the second I leave the room.”

“Then you should stay longer.” I shrugged and his eyes dropped, his focus on my cleavage as his tongue darted to wet his lips.

“You never seem to want to go again.”

“I always do.” I murmured as he got closer, his hands back on my hips as I knocked back against the table. I met his mouth as he began to lean down, kissing him with the same eagerness.

“You should…stay the night.” He breathed against me, his hands squeezing tight.

“You know I can’t.” I whispered, my forehead against his.

“Then the hotel again, and this time, I’ll stay.”

And so, after another round of dances and champagne, I went to the hotel and waited impatiently for him to arrive a half an hour later.

“Thought you might’ve undressed at least-“ he panted as he tugged the zip of my dress down, getting increasingly frustrated when it kept catching.

“Don’t break it” I mumbled, knowing he was thinking about just tearing it in half. Soon enough it was shoved to the floor and I let out a squeal as he pushed me down to the bed making me bounce slightly. I couldn’t help but laugh when his clothes were flung at the wall.

His arms were around me, his body rolling with mine until I was above him. I hesitated just slightly, he’d never put me on top before.

“Are you gonna look at me?” He whispered and I nodded slowly. Something was different, I felt lighter, less tense and full of shame. My body still welcomed him as easily as all the other times but there was something messier this time. Neither of us seemed to have the same precision as usual when our hips met. Laughs seemed to mix with our moans and even once I was spent and on top of him, his hips still rocked against mine. My mouth remained against his until sleep took me away.

In the morning my head pounded and my body ached. I shifted to sit only to find our bodies still attached. I glanced at his face but found him still full of sleep. I swallowed thickly, I’d drank more than I meant to out of nerves and I’d given into him far more easily because of it. Slowly, I became to pull him out but at the movement his hips thrust back up making me whine. The sound seemed to stir something in him, soon his own eyes cracking awake.

“Mmh…” he mumbled incoherently before shifting against to pull out just slightly, again his hips drove forward into me. I moaned again and let his hands pull me back down. I was encased with the heat from his body as he led over me, his face nuzzled in my neck whilst he thrust lazily between my thighs, the sensation once again gentle but intense.

“Klaus…” I breathed and it might’ve been the first time I’d said his name in sex. The fact seemed to affect him greatly, his hips stuttering at his own name. “Klaus” I repeated, a whine in my throat that encouraged his body to rut involuntarily. I gasped when at the sudden rapidness and repeated his name until I felt him spill out of me.

“Fuck…” he whispered against my shoulder, his entire weight now holding me down. Silently, I stroked his back. It was strangely intimate and something I’d avoided thus far, as I felt his soft kisses across my skin, I wished I’d indulged in it sooner.

We took our time to clean up, to dress and leave. Klaus promised to call but he had to go as an issue in the family had already occurred.

I didn’t receive any calls, though I knew his mother’s betrayal must’ve stung. I attempted to text but was left unanswered.

When I seemed to be ill, I ended up in the hospital only to be diagnosed with an unbelievable fate: pregnant.

Klaus paused, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second. He closed the distance between them with terrifying, supernatural speed, slamming both hands onto the edge of her desk and leaning in until he was mere inches from her face.

"Do you have any idea who I am, love?" he purred, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "I am the Original Hybrid. I built this city. I rule every creature that bumps in the night. And one of my 'boys,' as you so quaintly put it, accidentally drained one of your little street thugs because the boy was thirsty. You do not demand compensation from me."

Y/N finally raised her eyes. They were calm, calculating, and entirely devoid of fear. She picked up a delicate porcelain cup, taking a slow sip of the pitch-black espresso within. The bitter scent of vervain wafted across the desk.

Klaus caught the scent and his eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, his pupils dilating as he forced his voice into a hypnotic, rhythmic cadence. "You will forget the three million dollars. You will stand up, walk out of this room, and hand over your entire operation to my vampires. You are a fragile, mortal girl, and you are terrified of me."

Y/N stared at him for a beat. Then, a slow, mocking smile spread across her lips. She let out a sharp, genuine laugh that echoed in the quiet room.

"A fragile mortal girl," she repeated, setting her cup down with a soft click. "How delightfully cliché. Did you honestly think compulsion would work on me? I’ve been consuming vervain-infused espresso since I took over this family five years ago, Klaus. I know exactly what you are. And more importantly, I know what I am."

Klaus slowly straightened up, his eyes locked onto hers. The anger in his chest was suddenly entirely eclipsed by a deep, intoxicating rush of intrigue. A human woman laughing in his face after a compulsion attempt? It was magnificent.

"You think you're a god in this city, Klaus," Y/N murmured, leaning across the mahogany desk, her eyes locking onto his. "But a god is nothing without believers. And my people don't believe in you. They believe in me."

Klaus smirked, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low hum. "Then perhaps I'll just have to convert the goddess first."

"Try it," she challenged softly. "But until then, let me tell you how this is going to go. Your vampire killed my highest-ranking captain on the docks. That captain managed the human logistics that keep your inner circle's assets hidden from the federal government. As of five minutes ago, I have frozen the bank accounts of every single one of your human fronts. I’ve intercepted three of your private blood-supply shipments coming in from Texas. And I’ve given a very generous donation to the local police precinct, ensuring they perform heavy, loud, and very sunny raids on your favorite vampire hangouts tomorrow at noon."

Klaus’s smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, lethal glare. "You dare threaten me?"

"It’s not a threat, it’s a ledger balance," Y/N replied smoothly. "You fight with fangs and claws. I fight with logistics, money, and human loyalty. I can ruin your life without ever throwing a punch, Mikaelson. Now, are we going to negotiate like executives, or are you going to keep breaking my furniture?"

For a long moment, the silence in the room was suffocating. Then, Klaus threw his head back and laughed—a rich, genuine sound of pure delight.

"Elijah was right," a smooth, cultured voice spoke from the ruined doorway.

Elijah Mikaelson stepped into the office, impeccably dressed in a pristine navy suit, stepping over the splinters of wood with practiced grace. He looked at Y/N, bowing his head in a gesture of profound respect.

"I apologize for my brother's lack of decorum, Miss Y/L/N," Elijah said smoothly. "I told him that seeking a violent solution to a logistical problem would be foolish. Finally, Niklaus, you've found a woman who can handle your temper because she has an empire of her own to run."

"Oh, she’s entirely correct, Elijah," Klaus said, his eyes never leaving Y/N. The hostility in his gaze had morphed into something far more dangerous: a burning, possessive fascination. "She has my attention."

Over the next two weeks, the French Quarter became a chessboard.

It was a war of mutual sabotage disguised as a high-society courtship. Klaus would intentionally ruin a syndicate smuggling shipment, leaving a single, perfect white rose in the empty crate. Y/N would respond by leaking the location of one of Klaus's daylight-ring-less vampires to the authorities, forcing the vampire to spend a miserable afternoon hiding in a sewer, while she sent a bottle of centuries-old bourbon to the Mikaelson compound with a note that read: Keep your pets on a leash.

They kept crossing paths at the city's most exclusive venues. At a charity gala at the asymmetric, modern art museum, Klaus cornered her near a balcony, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo.

"You're quite a thorn in my side, love," he murmured, swirling his champagne.

Y/N, dazzling in a backless silk gown, leaned against the railing. "And you're a terrible houseguest in my city. But we adapt."

The breaking point came on a humid Thursday night.

Y/N was leaving a private underground lounge in the Marigny district when a rogue faction of her own mafia—men bribed by a rival vampire coven looking to usurp both Y/N and Klaus—ambushed her.

The alleyway erupted in gunfire and the screech of tires. Y/N didn't freeze. She pulled a sleek, silver-plated pistol from her holster, firing with deadly accuracy, dropping two men before they could even aim. But there were too many. A bullet grazed her upper arm, tearing through the silk of her suit jacket, and a heavy blow knocked her against the brick wall.

Before the rogue enforcers could close in, the air pressure in the alley shifted.

A blur of motion tore through the darkness. The screams that followed were short, wet, and horrific. Klaus appeared like a wraith of slaughter. His face was contorted, veins bulging beneath his eyes, his hybrid fangs bared as he literally tore the ambushers apart. The absolute, unadulterated rage radiating from him was suffocating.

Within seconds, the alley was silent, save for the sound of heavy breathing and dripping blood.

Klaus turned to her, the hybrid face receding, leaving only a look of wild, frantic panic. He rushed to her side, his hands hovering over her arm, completely terrified of touching her too hard.

"Who did this to you?" he roared, his voice shaking with a dangerous, unstable fury. "Tell me their names! I will rip their hearts from their chests, I will burn their homes to ash, I will—"

"Klaus," Y/N said, her voice remarkably calm despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She pressed a hand to her bleeding arm, wincing slightly, but her eyes were steady. "Stop."

He looked at her, his breathing ragged, the great, unkillable beast brought to a standstill by a single word from a mortal.

Y/N reached into her inner suit pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled manila folder. She held it out to him. "I already knew there was a leak in my organization. The names of the traitors and the coven backing them are in here."

Klaus stared at the folder, then up at her, a dark, wicked understanding dawning on him. She wasn't asking him to be her savior. She was weaponizing him.

"Don't just kill them, Klaus," Y/N whispered, her eyes turning pitch black with her own brand of human ruthlessness. "Destroy their legacy."

Klaus let out a low, breathy growl, a dark smirk spreading across his blood-splattered face. He took the folder, his fingers brushing against hers, sending a jolt of pure electricity through them both. He had never felt more understood, never felt more entirely captivated by a living soul.

"With pleasure, my queen," Klaus murmured, leaning down until his lips almost touched the shell of her ear. "And when I'm done... we are going to have a very long discussion about the terms of our new alliance."

-

The cleanup of the alleyway was handled with the terrifying efficiency that only a hybrid and a mafia could muster. Within an hour, the bodies were gone, the asphalt was hosed down, and the scent of copper was replaced by the humid smell of impending rain.

Klaus had practically forced Y/N into the back of his sleek, black SUV, ignoring her protests that she was perfectly capable of driving her own car. He sat beside her in the leather interior, his eyes fixed on the makeshift bandage she had wrapped around her forearm. He was uncharacteristically quiet, a tense, vibrating energy radiating off him that made the air in the vehicle feel heavy.

"You're brooding, Klaus," Y/N said softly, leaning her head back against the leather seat. "It doesn't suit a god."

"I am not brooding, love," he replied, his voice a low baritone that grated with suppressed emotion. "I am merely contemplating the absolute audacity of those who thought they could touch what is mine."

Y/N turned her head to look at him, a sharp eyebrow raised. "What is yours? I am a business partner at best, Mikaelson. Do not mistake an alliance for ownership."

Klaus turned his head, his blue-green eyes locking onto hers with a sudden, fierce intensity. "Do not underestimate your impact on me, Y/N. I have lived for a thousand years, and I have seen empires crumble and kings fall. But I have never seen a mortal woman look into the jaws of death—look into my jaws—and dictate terms. You are a rarity. And I protect what is rare."

The SUV pulled up to the gates of the Mikaelson compound. Klaus was out of the car before the driver could even kill the engine, opening Y/N's door and offering her his hand. She took it, noting the lingering warmth and the slight tremor of restrained adrenaline in his grip.

He led her up the stairs and into the grand courtyard, where Elijah was already waiting, standing by a table laden with medical supplies, a bottle of scotch, and two glasses.

"I took the liberty of preparing a few things," Elijah said, his tone perfectly measured, though his eyes scanned Y/N's injured arm with genuine concern. "Niklaus's panicked phone call was rather light on details, but heavy on threats of total annihilation."

"She’s fine, Elijah," Klaus snapped, though his actions contradicted his harsh tone as he gently guided Y/N to a velvet armchair. He immediately bypassed the medical kit, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and poured a generous amount into a glass, handing it to her. "Drink. For the shock."

"I'm not in shock, Klaus," Y/N said, taking a sip anyway. The alcohol burned pleasantly down her throat. "But thank you."

Klaus pulled up a chair, sitting directly in front of her. Without asking, he took her injured arm in his hands. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he began to unwrap the makeshift bandage, exposing the shallow graze where the bullet had torn the flesh. His jaw tightened at the sight of her blood, his pupils expanding slightly.

"You could just heal me," Y/N pointed out, watching his face closely. "A drop of your blood and this disappears."

Klaus paused, looking up from her arm. A complex shadow passed over his features. "I could," he murmured. "But vampire blood is a foul mechanism of control, love. It binds you to me in a way that isn't earned. And given your particular aversion to being controlled..." He looked back down, dipping a piece of gauze into an antiseptic solution. "...I find myself wanting to do this the human way. To ensure you know I can be gentle."

Y/N hissed slightly as the antiseptic stung the wound, and Klaus immediately blew a soft breath over her skin to cool it. The intimacy of the gesture was staggering.

Elijah watched them from the edge of the courtyard, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. He picked up his own glass, taking a quiet sip. "If you two are quite finished establishing your unconventional courtship, we have a folder to discuss. The names inside, Miss Y/L/N—are you entirely certain of their treachery?"

"Positive," Y/N said, her voice hardening as she slipped back into her persona. "The human faction is led by Anthony Marcone. He’s been skimming from the docks for months, thinking I wouldn't notice. The coven backing him is the Tremé group—a bunch of rogue witches who think that if they eliminate me, they can cut off your human resources and force the Mikaelsons out of the Quarter."

Klaus finished taping a clean bandage over her arm, his hands lingering on her wrist for a moment before he stood up. He picked up the manila folder from the table, flipping it open. His smirk returned, but it was devoid of humor. It was the smile of a predator that had just been given permission to hunt.

"A beautifully orchestrated play," Klaus mused, looking over the names. "They wanted a war. They wanted us to tear each other apart so they could slide into the vacuum." He closed the folder with a sharp snap and looked at Y/N, his eyes dancing with a wicked, lethal light. "How do you wish to play this, my love? Shall I tear them limb from limb, or do you have a more... elegant solution?"

Y/N leaned back in her chair, a cold, calculating expression settling over her features. "Marcone has a meeting tomorrow night at the old warehouse on Pier 4. He thinks he’s finalizing the deal to sell out my routes to the witches. I want him to think everything is going perfectly. I want him to feel the weight of his success."

"And then?" Klaus asked, leaning against the table, completely captivated by the darkness in her eyes.

"And then, I want you to walk through the door," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I will handle the humans. You handle the witches. Let them see exactly what happens when the underworld and the supernatural world stop fighting each other—and start working together."

Klaus’s breath hitched. He walked over to her, bending down until his face was level with hers, his hands resting on the arms of her chair, effectively trapping her. The scent of her perfume, mixed with the faint metallic tang of her blood and the expensive scotch, was utterly intoxicating.

"An unholy alliance," Klaus murmured, his voice a gravelly purr. "The Hybrid King and the Mafia Queen. You are a dangerous woman, Y/N."

"And you are a dangerous monster, Klaus," she replied, not flinching, her lips mere inches from his. "That’s why we make such a good pair."

Klaus let out a low, dark laugh, his eyes dropping to her lips before returning to her gaze. "Tomorrow night, then, love. We shall show this city who truly owns its soul."

-

The air inside the abandoned warehouse on Pier 4 was damp, smelling of river water, rusted iron, and betrayal.

Anthony Marcone stood at the center of the concrete floor, illuminated by a single string of overhead work lights. He was flanked by six of his most loyal syndicate enforcers, all of them heavily armed. Opposite him stood the Regent of the Tremé witch coven, a sharp-faced woman named Genevieve, surrounded by four of her practitioners.

"The routes are secured," Marcone said, tossing a heavy leather duffel bag onto a rusted metal table. It landed with a dense, metallic thud—the sound of cold, hard cash. "Y/N is dead. My boys confirmed the ambush in the Marigny. By tomorrow morning, the human factions will recognize me as the new Mafia King. And as promised, your covens get exclusive access to the smuggling channels without the Mikaelsons ever knowing."

Genevieve smiled, a cold, elegant twist of her lips. "A flawless transaction, Anthony. The Original Hybrid relies entirely on your former boss's human networks to keep his empire cloaked. Without her, he is blind. We will bleed him dry."

"I’m afraid," a smooth, authoritative voice echoed from the shadows of the catwalks above, "that reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

Marcone froze.

From the darkness stepped Y/N. She wore a striking, cream-colored pantsuit—unblemished, pristine, and completely devoid of the blood Marcone had expected. Her heels clicked with a slow, rhythmic, terrifying precision against the metal grating as she descended the iron stairs. Behind her, a dozen of her most elite, heavily armed loyalists materialized from the shadows, their rifles trained squarely on Marcone’s men.

"Y/N," Marcone stammered, his face draining of color. "How... the ambush—"

"The ambush was sloppy, Anthony," Y/N said smoothly, stopping at the base of the stairs and crossing her arms. She looked at him with an expression of profound disappointment. "You thought you could buy loyalty with the money you skimmed from my docks? My people don't just follow the paycheck. They follow the crown."

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed, her hands beginning to twitch as she prepared a spell. "You’re a fool to come here alone, human. Your guards can’t stop what we can do."

"Oh, she isn't alone," a low, gravelly baritone purred from the main entrance.

The massive steel roll-up doors of the warehouse didn't just open; they were ripped entirely off their tracks with a deafening screech of tearing metal.

Klaus stepped through the dust, looking every bit the devastating, ancient predator. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark jacket, a wicked, manic smirk stretching across his face. Beside him, Elijah walked with practiced grace, calmly buttoning his suit jacket as if attending a tedious business meeting.

"You..." Genevieve whispered, stepping back. "The Mikaelsons."

"In the flesh, love," Klaus said, his blue-green eyes flashing with a sudden, amber hybrid light. The veins beneath his eyes began to pulse, a dark, terrifying map of hunger and rage. "You see, Anthony, Genevieve... you made a catastrophic error in judgment. You assumed that Miss Y/N and I were too busy fighting each other to notice your little rats scrambling in the dark."

"Kill them!" Marcone screamed, panicking.

The warehouse erupted into chaos, but it wasn't a battle. It was an execution.

Y/N didn't hesitate. She drew her silver-plated pistol, firing three perfectly placed shots. Marcone’s top enforcers dropped before they could even lift their weapons. Her syndicate guards opened fire with ruthless, tactical precision, pinning down the remaining human traitors. Y/N walked through the gunfire with absolute composure, her eyes locked entirely on Marcone, who was scrambling backward in terror.

Meanwhile, Klaus was a blur of violence.

Before the Tremé witches could finish chanting their incantations, Klaus closed the distance with supernatural speed. A sickening crunch echoed through the room as he snapped the neck of the first witch. Elijah moved with equal, lethal elegance, his hands covered in blood as he literally ripped the heart out of another practitioner who had attempted to cast a pain infliction spell.

Genevieve raised her hands, channeling a blast of raw, telekinetic energy toward Klaus, throwing him back against a stack of wooden crates. But Klaus simply laughed, a rich, terrifying sound that echoed off the high ceiling. He stood up, shaking the dust from his shoulders, his hybrid fangs fully bared.

"Is that the best you have?" Klaus roared, his voice vibrating with a thousand years of malice. "I am the Original Hybrid! You cannot burn what is already hell!"

He blurred forward, pinning Genevieve against the concrete wall by her throat, his grip tightening until her gasps for air turned to desperate wheezes.

On the other side of the room, Marcone was backed against a rusted forklift, staring down the barrel of Y/N’s gun. He was weeping, his hands raised in surrender.

"Y/N, please," he begged, his voice cracking. "We've been family for years. I made a mistake. Please."

Y/N looked down at him, her face completely expressionless. "You didn't just make a mistake, Anthony. You tried to sell my city to people who would see it burn. You forgot the first rule of the syndicate." She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I am the law."

Bang.

She didn't look away as Marcone slumped to the ground. She calmly lowered her weapon, ejecting the spent magazine and sliding a fresh one into place with a sharp, metallic click.

Klaus watched her from across the room, still holding a terrified, choking Genevieve by the throat. Seeing Y/N pull the trigger without a hint of hesitation—seeing her absolute, unyielding authority—sent a rush of pure, intoxicating adrenaline straight to his heart. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

"And what of this one, my love?" Klaus asked, turning his head to look at Y/N, his voice a low, possessive purr. He deliberately used the title, yielding the floor to her. "Shall I rip her head off, or do you have a use for a broken witch?"

Y/N walked over, her heels clicking in the sudden silence of the dead warehouse. She stood next to Klaus, looking at Genevieve, whose eyes were wide with a frantic plea for mercy.

"Let her go, Klaus," Y/N said softly.

Klaus frowned slightly, but he dropped Genevieve to the floor. The Regent collapsed, coughing and clutching her bruised throat.

Y/N knelt down, leaning close to the witch. "You are going to go back to your coven, Genevieve. You are going to tell them that the Tremé group now answers to me for their human logistics, and to the Mikaelsons for their magic. If a single witch so much as lights a candle without our permission, Klaus won't be the one coming for you. I will. And as you've just seen... I don't miss."

Genevieve nodded frantically, scrambling backward before running out into the rainy New Orleans night.

Y/N stood up, brushing a non-existent speck of dust from her cream pantsuit. She turned to Klaus, a small, genuine smirk finally touching her lips. "Clean up your side of the room, Mikaelson. We have a city to run."

Klaus stared at her, a low, dark chuckle escaping his chest. He took a step closer, completely ignoring Elijah, who was quietly wiping his hands with a silk handkerchief in the background. Klaus reached out, his fingers catching her chin, tilting her face up to meet his burning gaze.

"You are an absolute marvel," Klaus murmured, his voice thick with a dangerous, heavy affection. "An unholy alliance, indeed. I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful empire, love."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Klaus," Y/N replied, though she didn't pull away from his touch. "We still have to negotiate the split on the dock revenue."

"We can negotiate whatever you like," Klaus whispered, his lips brushing against her cheek as he leaned in. "As long as you remain exactly where you belong. By my side."

-

The heavy scent of copper and ozone gradually settled as the syndicate enforcers moved in to clear the warehouse, working with a quiet, lethal efficiency that mirrored their leader.

Elijah stepped up beside Klaus, offering a clean linen handkerchief to his brother, though his eyes remained fixed on Y/N with an expression that bordered on profound fascination. "A spectacularly executed strategy, Miss Y/L/N," Elijah murmured, offering a polite bow of his head. "It is rare to see my brother's... enthusiasm channeled into something so thoroughly organized."

"It’s just good business, Elijah," Y/N replied smoothly, holstering her weapon. She looked over at her captains, who were already loading Marcone’s former loyalists into the backs of unmarked vans. "When the foundation is compromised, you don't patch the wall. You tear it down and pour new concrete."

Klaus let out a soft, appreciative growl, stepping closer until the heat radiating from his supernatural frame brushed against her. "You see that, Elijah? She speaks of execution like an art form. I’ve been saying it for centuries." He looked down at Y/N, his thumb lightly tracing the sharp line of her jawline, his blue-green eyes darker, heavier than they had been before the slaughter. "But my brother is right about one thing. You managed to direct my fury into a masterpiece. I find myself entirely at your disposal."

"Careful, Klaus," Y/N warned, though she didn't step back from his intoxicatingly close presence. Her eyes locked onto his, unblinking. "An open-ended offer like that to a Mafia Queen is a dangerous game. I might just take everything you have."

"Oh, love," Klaus whispered, a devastatingly wicked smirk pulling at his lips. "I am practically begging you to try."

"If you two are quite finished flirting over the casualties," Elijah interrupted, his tone dry as he checked his gold pocket watch, "we have the matter of the city's infrastructure to stabilize before the sun rises. The human factions will notice Marcone’s absence by dawn."

"Let them notice," Y/N said, turning her attention back to the logistics, though she allowed Klaus’s hand to slide down from her chin to rest possessively against the small of her back. "Marcone’s captains are already being handled. By 6:00 AM, every union boss, precinct captain, and dock worker will have received a text message confirming that the hierarchy remains unchanged. The only difference is that the tax just went up ten percent for anyone who hesitated to take my side tonight."

Klaus’s smirk widened into a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. "Ruthless. Efficient. Beautiful." He leaned down, his voice dropping to a gravelly purr near her ear. "Come. Let my driver take you back to the compound. The rain is starting again, and your arm needs proper looking after, despite your impressive display of stamina."

An hour later, the storm was raging outside the thick brick walls of the Mikaelson compound.

Inside Klaus’s private study, a crackling fire cast long, dancing amber shadows across the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and rare renaissance paintings. Y/N sat on the plush leather sofa, her cream suit jacket draped over the armrest. Her silk blouse was unbuttoned just enough to expose the clean, white bandage on her forearm.

Klaus walked over from the bar, carrying two crystal tumblers filled with a rich, amber liquid. He handed one to her, his fingers deliberately lingering against hers as she took the glass.

"To the new regime," Klaus murmured, raising his glass in a silent toast.

Y/N clinked her glass against his. "To keeping our boundaries clear."

Klaus chuckled, taking a slow sip before sitting on the coffee table directly opposite her, his knees brushing against hers. The raw, violent hybrid from the warehouse had vanished, replaced by a quiet, intense focus that felt infinitely more dangerous.

"You truly aren't afraid of me, are you?" Klaus asked, his eyes searching hers, looking for even a tremor of human frailty. "Tonight, I showed you the monster beneath the skin. I tore men apart with my bare hands. Most mortals would be scheming on how to put a silver stake through my heart out of sheer self-preservation."

"Most mortals don't run the underworld, Klaus," Y/N replied, taking a slow, measured drink of the bourbon. "You think you're the only monster in New Orleans? Because you have fangs and speed? I’ve ordered executions. I’ve ruined families with a single stroke of a pen. I look at you, and I don't see a monster. I see an asset. A terrifying, incredibly handsome asset who happens to share my taste for absolute control."

Klaus’s breath hitched. The word handsome hadn't slipped past him, nor had the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart, which hadn't accelerated in fear once since he sat down.

"An asset," Klaus repeated, a low, dangerous rumble in his chest as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them until their breaths mingled in the warm air of the study. "Is that all I am to you? A tool to be pointed at your enemies?"

"For now," Y/N whispered, her gaze dropping to his lips before rising to meet his burning eyes. "But I'm a businesswoman, Klaus. I'm always open to negotiating a deeper investment."

Klaus didn't hesitate. He set his glass down on the table and reached out, his large hands cupping her face, his touch remarkably gentle for a creature that had shattered steel an hour prior. He pulled her in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was slow, possessive, and thick with a thousand years of repressed hunger.

Y/N didn't pull away. She leaned into him, her fingers tangling in his dark curls, pulling him closer as the fire roared in the background. It wasn't a surrender; it was a hostile takeover, two rulers finally finding their match in the dark.

When Klaus finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his eyes were bright with a fierce, protective light.

"The city won't know what hit it," Klaus murmured against her lips.

Y/N smirked, her hand resting against his chest, right over the steady, powerful beat of his heart. "Let them wonder, Klaus. We've got work to do."

-

The morning light that filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of Klaus’s study was a pale, watery grey, doing little to dispel the lingering warmth of the fire.

Y/N sat at the massive mahogany desk, having successfully commandeered Klaus’s leather executive chair. Her cream slacks were still pristine, though her blazer remained cast aside. A sleek tablet rested in front of her, displaying a real-time feed of the New Orleans shipping manifests. Klaus stood just behind her, one hand resting on the back of her chair, his chest practically pressed against her shoulder as he watched her fingers fly across the screen.

"You're shifting the contraband routes through the 9th Ward," Klaus observed, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble that vibrated right against her neck. "A bit exposed, wouldn't you say, love? My vampires typically patrol the Lower Garden District."

"Exactly," Y/N replied, not looking up as she authorized a encrypted digital transfer. "Which is why the police and the feds focus all their surveillance there. They're looking for your teeth, Klaus, not my trucks. By moving my human cargo through the 9th, we bypass the heat entirely. Your boys get a quiet night, and my people get an unobstructed harbor."

Klaus leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Brilliant. Though I must admit, I rather enjoy the heat."

"I prefer profit," Y/N said, finally tilting her head up to look at him. Their faces were inches apart. "And stability. Speaking of which, your brother has been standing in the courtyard for ten minutes, looking like he’s about to give a lecture on municipal zoning."

Klaus chuckled, straightening up just as the double doors to the study opened. Elijah stepped inside, carrying a silver tray with fresh coffee—real espresso, heavily laced with vervain, just the way Y/N liked it—and a stack of morning newspapers.

"The transition of power within the human syndicate has been finalized," Elijah announced, setting the tray down on a side table with immaculate precision. "The local news is reporting Anthony Marcone’s sudden disappearance as a tragic, gang-related abduction. The police chief has already released a statement promising a 'thorough investigation'—which, translated from the bribe he received at dawn, means the files have already been shredded."

"Perfect," Y/N said, standing up and reaching for an espresso cup. She took a slow sip, letting the bitter heat ground her after a sleepless night. "What about the Tremé coven?"

"Genevieve was thoroughly cooperative," Elijah replied, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips. "She spent the early hours of the morning convincing her elders that a treaty with the Bourbon Street Syndicate and the Mikaelson family is the only path to their survival. Magic will flow quietly in the Quarter, under our collective purview."

Klaus walked over to the tray, poured himself a splash of bourbon into his coffee, and looked at Y/N with an intensity that could melt iron. "We did it, then. Total sovereignty. A flawless integration of the underworld and the extraordinary."

"Don't get comfortable, Klaus," Y/N remarked, setting her empty cup down with a sharp clink. "An empire built overnight requires constant maintenance. I have a 10:00 AM meeting with the union bosses at the docks to ensure they understand who signs their paychecks now. And I need to do it without a blood-splattered hybrid looming over my shoulder."

Klaus scoffed playfully, stepping into her path as she reached for her blazer. He took the tailored jacket from her hands, holding it open so she could slide her arms into the silk sleeves. As he adjusted the lapels, his hands lingered on her shoulders, his fingers pressing firmly into the fabric.

"You wound me, love," Klaus murmured, his eyes locking onto hers. "I am a remarkably civilized companion when I want to be. Besides, a mafia shouldn't have to walk into a room of disgruntled union men without her enforcer."

Y/N smirked, leaning forward until her nose almost touched his. "I am my own enforcer, Klaus. But... if you promise to wear a suit and keep your fangs to yourself, I might let you sit at the foot of the table."

Klaus’s jaw tightened in a mix of amusement and sharp desire. The power play between them was an endless dance, and he loved every step of it. "I shall be the very picture of discretion," he promised, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper.

"See that you are," she said, tapping his chest with her signet ring before turning to Elijah. "Elijah, keep an eye on the bank accounts. If a single dollar moves out of the Marcone estate, let me know."

"Of course, Miss Y/L/N," Elijah said, bowing his head smoothly. "A pleasure doing business with a true professional."

As Y/N walked toward the exit, her heels clicking authoritatively against the hardwood floor, Klaus fell into step right beside her, his hand settling comfortably, possessively, against the small of her back. The city of New Orleans thought it belonged to the ghosts, the witches, and the monsters. But it was very clear who it actually belonged to.

-

The boardroom at the Port of New Orleans was freezing, but the union bosses sitting around the massive oval table were sweating through their shirts.

Y/N sat at the head of the table, the sleeves of her cream blazer rolled up just enough to reveal the crisp white bandage on her forearm. She didn’t look like a woman who had survived an assassination attempt and an underworld coup less than twenty hours ago. She looked like a monarch reviewing her subjects.

At the far end of the table sat Klaus. True to his word, he was wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his hands clasped casually in front of him. He hadn't spoken a single word since they walked in, but his presence was suffocating. His blue-green eyes slowly tracked the nervous micro-expressions of every man in the room, a predator merely waiting for the signal to strike.

"So, gentlemen," Y/N said, her voice cutting through the hum of the air conditioner like a razor. She slid a single sheet of paper across the polished wood. "The new terms are non-negotiable. The ten percent tariff stands. The shipping manifests go through my office first, and the Mikaelson shipments pass through Pier 4 without paper trails, delays, or questions."

The head union boss, a burly man named Henderson, swallowed hard, his eyes darting anxiously from Y/N to Klaus. "And if... if some of the men find these terms a bit too steep, Miss Y/L/N? Anthony Marcone always gave us a cut of the—"

"Anthony Marcone is no longer with us," Y/N interrupted smoothly, leaning forward. She rested her hands on the table, the heavy gold signet ring catching the harsh fluorescent light. "And I am not Anthony. He managed this port with threats; I manage it with certainty. If your men find the terms too steep, they are welcome to seek employment elsewhere. Though, given the current climate in the city, I hear the unemployment rate for dissenters is remarkably... terminal."

A heavy, absolute silence fell over the room. Henderson looked down at the paper, his pen trembling slightly as he signed his name at the bottom. The other bosses quickly followed suit, passing the document back up the table like a death warrant they were glad to be rid of.

"Smart choice," Y/N murmured, sliding the signed contract into her leather folder. She stood up, signaling the end of the meeting. "Have a productive afternoon, gentlemen."

The union bosses practically scrambled out of the room, leaving the heavy oak doors to click shut behind them.

Once they were alone, the oppressive atmosphere evaporated. Klaus let out a low, rich chuckle, standing up and walking the length of the table until he stood directly in front of her.

"I must say, love," Klaus purred, his eyes dancing with an intoxicating mix of amusement and fierce, possessive pride. "Watching you completely paralyze a room full of hardened dock workers without a single drop of magic or vampire blood... it’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever witnessed."

"They understand consequences, Klaus," Y/N said, a genuine smirk finally breaking through her professional facade. She stepped into his space, her hands rising to rest against the lapels of his suit jacket. "Just like your vampires do. Just like the witches do."

Klaus’s hands settled firmly on her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. The raw, ancient power radiating from him was palpable, but as he looked down at her, his expression held a rare, fierce devotion.

"We’ve broken this city to our will," Klaus whispered, his voice dropping to a rough, gravelly murmur. "The underworld answers to your crown, and the supernatural answers to mine. No one can touch us, Y/N. No one would dare."

"An empire of monsters and mobsters," Y/N murmured, tilting her chin up, her eyes locking onto his with absolute equality. "They won't know whether to fear the shadows or the ledger."

"Let them fear both," Klaus replied, his smirk widening into something breathtakingly wicked.

He leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a deep, definitive kiss that sealed their dark, unholy alliance. It wasn't a promise of peace, nor was it a traditional fairytale ending. It was a blood-soaked pact between a hybrid and a mafia—the ultimate rulers of New Orleans, standing together at the top of the world they had conquered.

It wasn’t the classical vinyl he usually favored when he was in a foul mood, nor was it the heavy, dramatic operatics that suited his darker impulses. It was something entirely different—upbeat, warm, a little brassy, and utterly bursting with life. It echoed softly down the long, echoing hallway, cutting through the suffocating tension of the house.

Klaus paused. His feet, previously marching toward isolation, shifted direction of their own accord. He walked toward the living room, his steps growing quieter, his predatory instincts smoothing out into something resembling curiosity.

He stopped at the threshold, slipping his hands into his pockets as he leaned his shoulder against the heavy wooden door frame. And just like that, the ice encasing his chest began to thaw.

There you were.

The expensive, antique Persian rugs had been pushed haphazardly against the walls, completely clearing the center of the room to create a makeshift dance floor. You were spinning around in a soft, oversized sweater that swallowed your frame, your laughter ringing out louder and clearer than the music itself. Clutched in your hands was the small, fiercely enthusiastic form of Kayden, your seven-year-old son.

The boy had inherited his father’s wild, unruly golden-brown curls and a mini version of his intense determination. Right now, however, that fierce Mikaelson determination was focused entirely on matching your terrible, joyful dance steps. Kayden was giggling hysterically, his little sock-covered feet sliding effortlessly across the polished hardwood as you spun him in a dizzying circle. You looked radiant—completely unbothered by the politics of the city, entirely wrapped up in the magic of the silly moment you were sharing with your son.

Klaus just watched. The ancient Original, the hybrid terror of the supernatural world, was entirely defeated by the sight. A rare, completely unguarded smile tugged at the corner of his lips, smoothing away the harsh lines of anger that had marred his face all afternoon. He didn't want to interrupt. He just wanted to stand there for an eternity, memorizing the way the golden evening light filtered through the sheer curtains, catching the edges of your hair and making you look like an oil painting come to life.

Suddenly, Kayden’s eyes caught the movement in the doorway. "Daddy!" he gasped, his face lighting up with pure, unadulterated joy.

You stopped spinning, catching your breath with a breathless laugh as you followed your son’s gaze. The moment your eyes met Klaus’s, the playful excitement in your expression softened into something deeply knowing. You saw the lingering tiredness in the slump of his shoulders, the faint shadow of exhaustion behind his eyes.

Without a word of question about his day, you extended a hand toward him. "You're home," you said, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "Come on, you're just in time. Kayden is trying to teach me a routine he made up at school, and I am failing miserably."

Klaus chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound in his chest as he shook his head. "As tempting as that sounds, love, I think I am far too old and far too tired to keep up with the two of you tonight. I’d only ruin the choreography."

"No excuses, Dad!" Kayden demanded, abandoning your side to charge across the room. He slammed into Klaus’s legs, wrapping his arms around his thighs before grabbing one of Klaus's large, battle-worn hands. He tugged on it with all his seven-year-old might. "You have to dance. It’s a rule. Right, Mom?"

"A strict, non-negotiable household rule," you agreed, walking over to join them. The soft fabric of your sweater brushed against him as you wrapped your arms around Klaus's neck. You leaned up on your tiptoes, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. He melted into it, his hands automatically finding your waist, anchoring you against him. When you pulled back, you gave him a playful wink. "Come on, Nik. Just one dance. Shake off the city."

Defeated by the two people who held his entire heart in their hands, Klaus let out a mock, dramatic sigh. "Very well. But if your mother breaks an ankle, Kayden, I am holding you personally responsible."

Kayden cheered, dragging his father into the center of the room.

The next fifteen minutes were a beautiful blur of clumsy steps, bright laughter, and pure, chaotic joy. Any lingering remnants of Klaus's bad day vanished entirely. He lifted Kayden up, tossing him into the air just high enough to elicit a thrilled shriek, before settling the boy safely onto his shoulders. Kayden held onto his father’s hair for dear life, laughing as Klaus spun around in dizzying circles.

Then, Klaus reeled you into his chest. The upbeat track changed, and he took the lead, guiding you across the floor with the effortless, timeless grace he’d perfected over a millennium. He twirled you out and pulled you back in, his eyes locked onto yours, a genuine, dazzling smile lighting up his face. For a little while, the world outside those four walls ceased to exist. There were no enemies to slaughter, no operational threats to manage, no heavy burdens of a crown to bear. There was only the warmth of his family.

As the frantic energy of the upbeat songs faded, a slower, gentler melody began to filter through the speakers. The room's atmosphere shifted, settling into a cozy, quiet lull as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the room in deep shades of twilight.

Exhausted but thoroughly happy, Klaus moved over to the large, plush sofa, sinking deep into the cushions with a contented sigh. Kayden, whose boundless seven-year-old energy had finally hit a wall, crawled up onto the sofa right after him. The little boy yawned widely, rubbing his eyes before tucking his head directly into the crook of Klaus's arm. His small, chubby hand gripped the fabric of his father's shirt, anchoring himself.

You smiled softly at the sight, your heart swelling with love. Moving quietly, you crawled onto the sofa on Klaus’s other side, curling your body into his warmth. You rested your head against his chest, right over his heart, draping your arm over his waist as you stretched your legs out along the length of the cushions.

Klaus shifted, adjusting his weight so you were both comfortable. He wrapped one strong, protective arm around your shoulders, pulling you impossibly closer to his side, while his other hand gently and rhythmically stroked through Kayden’s wild curls. He listened to the steady, peaceful beat of your heart blending perfectly with your son's shallow breaths. To Klaus, it was the most beautiful, comforting symphony he had ever heard in his thousand years of existence.

Within minutes, Kayden’s breathing evened out completely, his body going heavy and lax as he fell into a deep sleep.

"Bad day?" you murmured softly into the quiet room, your voice thick and heavy with oncoming sleep. You pressed a gentle, comforting kiss to the warm skin of his chest exposed by his unbuttoned shirt.

Klaus rested his chin on top of your head, inhaling the familiar, soothing scent of your hair. The anger, the stress, the endless warfare of his life—it all felt so small, so insignificant compared to the quiet universe he held in his arms. He tightened his grip around you, letting an overwhelming sense of profound peace settle deep into his bones.

"It was," Klaus whispered into the dark, cozy room, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. He kissed the crown of your head, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your shoulder. "But it's perfect now, love."

He waited for a reply, but heard only the soft, rhythmic sigh of your breathing. You had fallen asleep, too, thoroughly exhausted from the evening's antics.

Klaus smiled in the dark, a soft, fiercely protective look washing over his features as he looked down at his sleeping wife and son. He held his family close against his chest, letting the low music play on into the night, entirely content to just stay right there, exactly where he belonged.

Second, when she finally arrived at the address Klaus had provided, she stood outside for a full three minutes just staring at the building.

It wasn't a mansion. It was a compound. A massive structure that took up half the block, with wrought-iron gates, a courtyard visible through the entrance, and architecture that screamed "we've been here since before your great-great-grandparents were born." The kind of place that belonged in a historical preservation catalog, not as someone's actual home.

"You can still leave," she whispered to herself. "Just turn around. Text Klaus that you got food poisoning. He'd understand. Probably."

Except her feet were already carrying her toward the gate.

Third, the gate swung open before she even touched it, like the house itself was inviting her in. Or trapping her. Either option seemed equally possible.

The courtyard was beautiful in the fading evening light. There was a fountain in the center and ivy climbing the walls, the kind of Old World elegance that New Orleans did better than anywhere else. She could hear voices and laughter from inside, the warm glow of lights spilling through tall windows.

She was halfway to the front door when it opened.

A blonde, stunning woman wearing a cocktail dress appears at the door. She had the same timeless quality Klaus did, that sense of being both young and ancient at once.

"You must be Y/N!" the woman said brightly, her accent like Klaus's but with a slightly different cadence. "I'm Rebekah. Nik's been pacing for the last hour convinced you weren't coming. It's been hilarious."

"I—hi. Sorry I'm late, the driver got lost—"

"Oh, don't apologize. Come in, come in!" Rebekah ushered her inside before Y/N could finish the sentence. "Is that a tart? You didn't have to bring anything, but Elijah will be thrilled. He gets unbearably smug when guests bring contributions."

The interior was even more overwhelming than the exterior. High ceilings, original artwork on every wall, some of which Y/N recognized from her art history courses, antique furniture that looked both priceless and actually used. The kind of space that had been lived in for centuries and showed it in the best possible way.

"Rebekah, don't ambush her at the door," came a cultured voice from the next room. A man appeared, dark-haired, impeccably dressed in a full suit despite this being a family dinner. He had Klaus's bone structure but none of his casual menace. "I'm Elijah. Welcome to our home."

"Thank you for having me," Y/N managed, suddenly hyperaware that she was standing in a vampire's house holding a chocolate tart and wearing thigh-high boots to Thanksgiving dinner.

"Where's Nik?" Rebekah called over her shoulder.

"Upstairs changing his shirt for the third time," another male voice answered, and a younger-looking man appeared from what looked like a sitting room. He had the same sharp features as his siblings but with an impish quality the others lacked. "I'm Kol. You're the museum girl who told him his accent needed work. I like you already."

"I was drunk," Y/N said weakly. "I thought he was just some guy in a costume."

Kol's grin was absolutely wicked.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

"Kol, behave," Elijah said mildly, taking the tart box from Y/N's hands. "Let me take this to the kitchen. Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Bourbon? Something stronger given that you're about to endure dinner with all of us?"

"Wine would be great," Y/N said, because she absolutely needed alcohol to get through this evening.

"Red or white?"

"Is it bad that I don’t have a preference?"

Elijah's lips twitched in what might have been amusement.

"I'll bring you both and you can decide as the evening progresses."

He disappeared toward what she assumed was the kitchen, leaving her alone with Rebekah and Kol, who were both looking at her with undisguised curiosity.

"So," Rebekah said, linking her arm through Y/N's like they were old friends. "Tell me everything. How did you two meet? Was it romantic? Did he do the brooding mysterious thing? He always does the brooding mysterious thing."

"He found me drunk on Halloween dressed as an angel and thought I was going to fall into traffic," Y/N said honestly, because what was the point of lying to vampires who could probably hear her heartbeat anyway.

Kol burst out laughing.

"Oh, that's perfect. That's absolutely perfect."

"He didn't mention that part," Rebekah said, delighted. "He just said he'd met someone interesting who appreciated art and wasn't afraid to argue with him about Byzantine iconography."

"I wasn't arguing, I was just—"

"She's here."

Klaus's voice came from the staircase, and Y/N turned to see him descending. He was wearing dark slacks and a henley in deep blue that matched his eyes, casual but still somehow elegant. His hair was slightly disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it.

He looked relieved. Genuinely, visibly relieved that she'd actually shown up.

"Hi," Y/N said, suddenly forgetting every word in the English language.

"Hi," Klaus echoed, and that dimpled smile appeared. "You came."

"You invited me."

"I did. I'm glad you're here." He crossed the room and to Y/N's complete surprise, kissed her cheek gently, his hand settling briefly on her lower back. "You look beautiful."

"I brought a tart," she blurted out, because apparently her brain had decided coherent conversation was optional now.

"She brought a tart!" Kol announced cheerfully. 

"Ignore Kol," Klaus said, shooting his brother a look. "He's been into the bourbon since noon."

"It's Thanksgiving," Kol protested. "It's traditional."

"It's four in the afternoon."

"Your point?"

Rebekah rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Y/N. Let's get you that wine before these two start bickering about something that happened in 1492."

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

Dinner was simultaneously exactly what Y/N had expected and nothing like she'd imagined.

The dining room was stunning. There was a long table that could easily seat twenty, set with china that looked older than the United States, and candles flickering in antique holders. The food was excessive in the best way: turkey, ham, three different potato dishes, vegetables she couldn't even name, homemade rolls that smelled like heaven.

Elijah hadn't been joking about taking his hosting duties seriously.

Y/N sat beside Klaus, hyperaware of his presence next to her. Too aware of the way his arm occasionally brushed hers when he reached for something and the warmth radiating from him despite vampires supposedly running cold. She'd half-expected them to be ice-cold to the touch, but he was just...warm. Normal. Human, except for the whole immortal thing.

The family dynamic was chaotic.

Rebekah and Kol bickered about something that had apparently happened in Paris in the 1920s. Elijah interjected with corrections about dates and details, which sparked an entirely new argument about who had the better memory. Klaus made dry commentary that had everyone either laughing or throwing dinner rolls at him.

It was loud. Messy. Strangely affectionate despite the constant verbal sparring.

It was also completely overwhelming.

Y/N found herself just...listening. Watching. Trying to process the fact that she was sitting at a table with people who casually referenced centuries like she referenced years. Who argued about historical events they'd actually lived through. Who passed dishes and poured wine and teased each other exactly like any normal family, except nothing about this was normal.

"—and I'm telling you, Elijah, you were absolutely smitten with that opera singer. Don't pretend otherwise."

"I was appreciative of her talent, Rebekah. There's a difference."

"You bought her flowers every night for three months!"

"Supporting the arts is hardly evidence of romantic attachment."

Klaus snorted into his wine glass.

"You proposed to her."

"I was being polite!"

The table erupted in laughter, and Y/N felt a smile tugging at her lips despite her nerves.

Then Kol turned his attention directly to her, his dark eyes bright with mischief.

"I thought you said she had a mouth on her, Nik. What happened? Did you compel her to behave at family dinner?"

The table went quiet.

Y/N felt Klaus tense beside her, his hand tightening slightly on his fork.

"Kol—" he started, voice carrying a warning edge.

"What? I'm just saying, you made her sound like she'd give as good as she got." Kol leaned forward, grinning. "But she's been quiet as a mouse all through dinner. I'm starting to think you exaggerated."

Y/N set down her wine glass carefully.

The thing was, Kol wasn't wrong. She had been quiet. Sitting here like some nervous teenager meeting her boyfriend's parents for the first time, letting them talk around her while she just observed.

And she was tired of being nervous.

"I've been quiet," she said evenly, meeting Kol's gaze, "because I was trying to figure out if it would be rude to ask how old everyone actually is, or if that's the vampire equivalent of asking a woman her weight."

Rebekah choked on her wine.

Kol's grin widened.

"Oh, I like her."

"Also," Y/N continued, warming to the topic now that she'd started, "I've been trying to work out the math on some of the stories you've been telling. Kol, you said you were in Paris in the 1920s, but earlier Rebekah mentioned you were daggered for most of the twentieth century. So either someone's timeline is off, or there's a story there you're all deliberately avoiding."

The silence that fell over the table this time was different. Surprised.

Klaus was staring at her with something that looked suspiciously like pride.

"The museum training," he murmured. "You catalogue details."

"I catalogue everything," Y/N confirmed. "It's literally my job. You think I wasn't taking notes during all those stories about historical events I've only read about in books?"

Elijah set down his wine glass, looking genuinely impressed.

"Kol was undaggered briefly in 1914," he said. "He made it to Paris before Niklaus caught up with him and put him back in the box."

"I was only in Paris for three days!" Kol protested.

"Three very memorable days, apparently," Rebekah said sweetly. "Since you're still talking about them a century later."

"So the daggering thing," Y/N said, because apparently she'd committed to this now. "That's real? You can actually just...put each other in magical time-out?"

"Only I," Klaus said dryly. "Though I haven't had to resort to it in some time."

"Define 'some time,'" Kol muttered.

"Three years is quite restrained for Nik, actually," Rebekah added.

Y/N looked at Klaus, eyebrows raised.

"You daggered your brother three years ago?"

"He tried to kill me," Klaus said, as if this explained everything.

"You killed me first!" Kol shot back. "In 1821!"

"You were conspiring with our father!"

"I was trying to survive!"

"Gentlemen," Elijah interrupted smoothly. "Perhaps we could table the death threats until after dessert? We have a guest."

Y/N took a long drink of her wine.

"This is the most dysfunctional family dinner I've ever been to," she said. "And my uncle once threw mashed potatoes at my aunt during an argument about politics."

"Did she throw them back?" Rebekah asked, genuinely curious.

"No, she just divorced him."

"Smart woman."

Klaus's hand found Y/N's under the table, his fingers lacing through hers. When she glanced at him, he was smiling that genuine, dimpled smile that made her heart do complicated things.

"There she is," he said softly, just for her. "My little angel with the sharp tongue."

"I was just nervous," Y/N admitted, equally quiet. "This is...a lot."

"I know. But you're doing brilliantly."

Kol cleared his throat loudly.

"Are we having a private moment? Should we leave?"

"Yes," Klaus said without looking away from Y/N.

"No," Elijah said firmly. "We're having Thanksgiving dinner like civilized people. Kol, pass the potatoes."

"Which ones? There are three kinds."

"All of them."

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

After dessert Klaus stood and offered her his hand.

"Come on," he said. "Let me show you the rest of the house before my siblings start telling embarrassing stories from the fourteenth century."

"Too late!" Kol called after them. "I've already got three queued up!"

"Ignore him," Rebekah advised, waving them off. "Go. Enjoy the tour. We'll be here drinking Elijah's expensive wine and arguing about the Renaissance."

Klaus led Y/N up the grand staircase, his hand warm and steady in hers. The second floor was just as impressive as the first. The hallways were lined with artwork and the rooms looked like they belonged in a museum rather than a home.

"This is Elijah's study," Klaus said, gesturing to a door. "Don't go in there unless you want a two-hour lecture on legal precedent. That's Rebekah's room that is also off-limits unless you enjoy being subjected to fashion critiques. Kol's room is down that hall, and I'd recommend avoiding it entirely."

"And yours?" Y/N asked.

Klaus's smile turned slightly mischievous.

"I'll show you. But first—" He opened a set of French doors at the end of the hallway. "The best view in the Quarter."

The balcony stretched the length of the building, wrought-iron railings overlooking the streets below. The French Quarter sprawled out before them in a tapestry of lights and shadows, gas lamps glowing on corners, music drifting up from distant bars, the cathedral spire visible in the distance. The air was cool but not cold, carrying the scent of jasmine and something distinctly New Orleans.

"Oh," Y/N breathed, moving to the railing. "This is beautiful. I mean, I knew the Quarter was gorgeous, but seeing it from up here..."

She turned to look at Klaus, expecting him to be taking in the view with her.

He was looking directly at her.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Beautiful."

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks, suddenly very aware of the intensity in his gaze. The way the moonlight caught in his blue-green eyes, the slight curve of his mouth.

"You're not even looking at the view," she said, aiming for teasing but landing somewhere closer to breathless.

"I'm looking at exactly what I want to see."

Her blush deepened.

"That's...that's a line. That's definitely a line."

"Doesn't make it less true." Klaus moved closer, not touching her but near enough that she could feel the warmth of him. "I'm interested in you, Y/N. Genuinely, completely fascinated by you. The way you look at art like you're seeing something no one else can. The way you argued with me about iconography despite thinking I was just some stranger at a gala. The way you agreed to have dinner with a family of Vampires."

"I was terrified," Y/N admitted.

"I know. But you came anyway. You brought a tart and wore those boots and sat through dinner with my insane family without running for the door." His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "Do you have any idea how extraordinary you are?"

"I'm really not," she whispered. "I'm just...me. Human. Mortal. Ordinary."

"There is nothing ordinary about you, love."

The endearment settled over her like a physical touch, warm and possessive and achingly gentle all at once.

"Klaus—"

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, leaning closer. 

Y/N's heart was hammering so hard she was certain he could hear it.

"What if I don't want you to stop?"

His smile was devastating.

"Then I won't."

The kiss started gentle His lips brushing hers with a softness that seemed at odds with everything she knew about him. Careful. Almost reverent. Like she was something precious that might break if he wasn't cautious.

But then Y/N's hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his henley, and something shifted.

Klaus's hand slid into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The gentleness gave way to hunger, not aggressive, but intense. Consuming. Like he'd been holding back and finally, finally had permission to let go.

Y/N made a small sound against his mouth and felt him smile.

"You taste like chocolate and wine," he murmured against her lips.

"You taste like bourbon and bad decisions," she managed, breathless.

His laugh was low and rich.

"The best kind of decisions, love."

He kissed her again, slower this time but no less thorough. His thumb traced patterns on her hip where her sweater had ridden up slightly, the touch sending sparks along her skin. She could feel the careful control in every movement. Could feel the way he held her like she was both fragile and essential, the way his lips moved against hers with practiced expertise but genuine feeling.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder than necessary, Klaus rested his forehead against hers.

"I've wanted to do that since Halloween," he admitted.

"You should have," Y/N said. "Would've saved me a lot of confused feelings."

"You were drunk and thought I was a costume. Hardly the time for declarations."

"Fair point." She paused, her fingers still tangled in his shirt. "Your family is watching us, aren't they?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Are they going to say something embarrassing when we go back downstairs?"

"Absolutely."

Y/N groaned.

"Great. Perfect. Love that for me."

Klaus kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips again. Quick and sweet.

"Welcome to the family, love."

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

Three weeks.

Three weeks of Klaus showing up at the museum during her lunch breaks with coffee and pastries from her favorite bakery. Three weeks of late-night conversations on her apartment balcony, where he'd tell her stories about Renaissance Florence and she'd counter with facts about museum conservation techniques. Three weeks of stolen kisses in darkened galleries after hours, of his hand finding hers under tables at restaurants, of waking up to find sketches slipped under her door with her face rendered in charcoal, her hands curled around a coffee cup, her profile as she studied a painting.

Three weeks of falling completely, irrevocably for a thousand-year-old vampire who looked at her like she was the most fascinating thing he'd encountered in a millennium.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was the best three weeks of her life.

Tonight, Y/N was at the compound. She'd started keeping a toothbrush in Klaus's bathroom, a change of clothes in his closet. Small invasions that he not only allowed but actively encouraged. He started moving his things to make room for hers, buying her favorite tea for the kitchen, and clearing space on his desk so she could work on museum catalogues while he painted.

She was curled up on the couch in his studio now, laptop balanced on her knees, trying to write condition reports for a new acquisition. The room smelled like oil paint and turpentine, classical music playing softly from speakers somewhere. Klaus stood at his easel across the room, lost in whatever he was creating, a streak of blue paint across his forearm.

Y/N had learned he painted when he was content. When his mind was quiet enough to let creativity flow instead of being consumed by paranoia and old wounds.

He'd been painting a lot lately.

"You're staring," Klaus said without turning around.

"I'm appreciating the view," Y/N countered. "There's a difference."

"Is there now?"

"Absolutely. Staring is creepy. Appreciating is romantic."

"And which am I doing when I watch you work?"

"Both, probably."

His laugh was warm and genuine.

"Fair assessment."

Y/N's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and frowned.

"My coworker wants to know if I can cover her shift tomorrow. Apparently she has a 'family emergency.'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "Which is code for 'I have a date and don't want to cancel.'"

"Will you do it?" Klaus asked, finally turning from his canvas.

"Probably. I'm a doormat like that." She typed out a response. "Besides, we're getting a new shipment of archival materials and someone needs to log them properly. Sarah would just shove everything in a box and call it a day."

"You take your work very seriously."

"Says the man who once spent six months perfecting a single brushstroke technique."

"That was different. I was avoiding my family."

"For six months?"

"They were being particularly insufferable that decade."

Y/N shook her head, smiling. The casual way he referenced time still threw her sometimes. Decades like months. Centuries like years.

Klaus set down his brush and crossed the room, settling onto the couch beside her. His hand found her ankle, thumb rubbing small circles over the bone.

"You're tense," he observed.

"Long day. The museum director wants to reorganize the entire European collection and I'm pretty sure it's going to be a disaster."

"Why?"

"Because he wants to arrange everything chronologically instead of by region, which sounds fine in theory but completely ignores cultural context and artistic movements." She gestured with her hands, warming to the topic. "You can't just put a Byzantine icon next to a Baroque altarpiece because they're both religious art from roughly the same century. The entire theological and aesthetic framework is different—"

Klaus was smiling at her.

"What?" Y/N asked.

"I love watching you talk about art. Your whole face lights up."

"I'm complaining about my boss."

"You're passionate about preservation and context. It's captivating." His hand slid higher, fingers tracing patterns on her calf. "Tell me more about why your director is wrong."

"Are you actually interested or are you just trying to get me worked up?"

"Can't it be both?"

She threw a pillow at him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning.

"Come here," he said, tugging her closer until she was staddling his lap, laptop abandoned on the coffee table. “Keep talking,” he said, stoking the sides of her thighs.

She raises a brow, “you want me to talk about work while you attempt to seduce me?”

Klaus's hands settled firmly on her thighs, thumbs stroking lazy patterns through the fabric of her jeans. His eyes were dark with intent, that familiar mischief playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I want you to do whatever feels natural, love," he said, voice dropping to that low register that made her stomach flip. "If that happens to be explaining iconography while sitting in my lap, well. I'm certainly not going to complain."

Y/N braced her hands on his shoulders, trying to ignore the heat building low in her belly.

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm attentive. There's a difference." His fingers traced higher, skimming the curve of her hip. "You were saying something about theological frameworks?"

"I was—" She lost her train of thought as his lips found the pulse point beneath her jaw. "That's cheating."

"I'm simply multitasking." He kissed along her neck, unhurried and deliberate. "Please, continue. I'm fascinated by your thoughts on chronological versus regional curation."

"You're a terrible liar."

"On the contrary, I'm an excellent liar. I'm just choosing honesty at the moment." He pulled back to look at her, one hand coming up to cup her face. "I like listening to you talk. I like the way your mind works. I like that you care so deeply about things most people would find mundane."

"Museum cataloguing is not mundane," Y/N protested, but her voice came out softer than intended.

"See? Passionate. Captivating." His thumb brushed across her lower lip. "Though I'll admit my current interest is less academic and more..."

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he kissed her slow and thorough, his hand sliding into her hair while the other remained firm on her hip. Y/N melted into it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

When they broke apart, she was breathing harder.

"More what?" she managed.

Klaus's smile was devastating.

"More focused on the fact that you're in my lap, looking at me like that, and I've been wanting to get my hands on you all evening."

"You've had your hands on me for the past five minutes."

"Not nearly enough." His hands slid under the hem of her sweater, palms warm against her skin. "I could touch you for a thousand years and it wouldn't be enough."

"That's—" Y/N's breath hitched as his thumbs traced the underside of her ribs. "That's very romantic for someone who's clearly trying to get me naked."

"I contain multitudes, love."

She laughed, the sound turning into a soft gasp as he kissed down her throat again, teeth grazing lightly.

"Your family is downstairs," she reminded him.

"Soundproofing spells," Klaus murmured against her collarbone. "Elijah insisted after the incident in 1952."

"I don't want to know, do I?"

"Absolutely not."

She wanted to argue that the door was open but his hands were doing wonderful, distracting things as they mapped the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, and the soft skin just above her jeans. Every touch was deliberate, controlled, like he was memorizing her through his fingertips.

She let out a breathy moan, “Klaus” she says, moving her hip deliberately in his lap

That sound. Klaus’ grip on her hips tightened reflexively as she rolled against him, deliberate and devastating.

"Fuck," he breathed, head falling back against the couch. His fingers dug into her flesh, hard enough to leave marks. "You're going to be the death of me, love."

"Pretty sure you're already dead," Y/N managed, doing it again. Watching the way his jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath skin. The way his eyes went darker, pupils blown wide.

"Semantics." His hands slid to her ass, pulling her harder against him. She could feel him now. Hard and thick through the layers of denim between them. "Keep doing that and I won't be responsible for what happens next."

"Maybe I want you to be irresponsible."

His laugh was rough, almost pained.

"Careful what you wish for, my dear."

But Y/N was done being careful. Three weeks of stolen kisses and careful touches, of Klaus holding himself back like she might break. She was tired of gentle. She wanted to see what he looked like when that iron control finally snapped.

She kissed him hard, her tongue sliding against his, hips moving in a rhythm that had him groaning into her mouth. His hands were everywhere, sliding under her sweater to palm her breasts through her bra, thumbs circling her nipples until she was gasping. Then down again, fingers working at the button of her jeans.

"Tell me to stop," Klaus said against her lips, even as he was dragging the zipper down. "Tell me this is too fast and I'll—"

"Don't stop," Y/N interrupted. "Don't you dare stop."

"Thank fuck."

He lifted her easily, vampire strength making it effortless, and laid her back on the couch, following her down. His hand slipped inside her jeans, inside her underwear, and then—

"Christ, you're wet," he groaned, fingers sliding through slick heat. "All this from sitting in my lap?"

"All this from three weeks of you being a gentleman," Y/N shot back, hips arching into his touch. "I was starting to think you didn't want—oh god—"

He'd found her clit, circling it with exactly the right pressure. His other hand was still under her sweater, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

"Didn't want what?" Klaus asked, voice rough. "Didn't want to spread you open and taste every inch of you? Didn't want to fuck you until you're screaming my name? Because I can assure you, love, I've wanted all of that and considerably more."

"Then why haven't you?" She could barely get the words out, too focused on the movement of his fingers, the building heat low in her belly.

"Because you're human. Fragile. Because I was trying to be decent." He kissed her hard, teeth catching her lower lip. "But if you keep making those sounds, decency is going to become a distant memory."

"Good," Y/N breathed. "I don't want decent. I want you."

"Then you'll have me, love. All of me."

He withdrew his hand from her jeans, ignoring her sound of protest, and sat back on his heels. His eyes were locked on her as he brought his fingers to his mouth, tongue sliding over them deliberately.

"Delicious," he said, voice dark with promise. "But I think I need a proper taste."

His hands went to her jeans, dragging them down her legs along with her underwear in one smooth motion. Cool air hit her skin and then his hands were on her thighs, pushing them apart.

"Klaus, "

"Let me hear you, love," he said, settling between her legs. "Let me hear what I do to you."

Then his mouth was on her and Y/N stopped thinking entirely.

Y/N let out a loud groan, arching her back and tilting her head back. Her hands gripped the sofa cushions. 

Klaus's tongue dragged through her folds, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every second. He groaned against her, the vibration sending sparks up her spine, and the sound was pure satisfaction.

"Fuck, you taste incredible," he muttered, breath hot against her. "Better than I imagined."

Y/N's hips bucked involuntarily and his hands clamped down on her thighs, holding her open and still.

"Stay," he commanded, voice rough with authority. "Let me work."

Then his mouth was on her clit and she couldn't have moved if she wanted to. He sucked and licked with focused intensity, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and tight circles that had her gasping. Every nerve ending was on fire, pleasure building in waves that threatened to drown her.

"Klaus—oh god—"

"That's it, love. Say my name." He pushed two fingers inside her, curling them perfectly while his tongue continued its assault. "Let everyone in this house know who's making you feel this good."

She should have been embarrassed. Should have cared that his siblings were somewhere downstairs, probably hearing every sound. But all she could focus on was the stretch of his fingers, the wet heat of his mouth, the coil of tension winding tighter and tighter in her core.

"You're close," Klaus observed, almost conversational despite the fact that his face was buried between her thighs. "I can feel you clenching around my fingers. So tight, love. Can't wait to feel you do that around my cock."

The filth coming from his mouth should not have been as devastating as it was.

"Please—" Y/N didn't even know what she was begging for anymore. More, harder, don't stop, everything.

"Please what?" He added a third finger, the stretch almost too much. "Use your words, my dear."

"Make me come," she gasped. "Please, Klaus, I need—"

He sucked hard on her clit at the same time he crooked his fingers against that perfect spot inside her, and Y/N shattered.

The orgasm hit her like a freight train. It had her back arching off the couch, thighs trembling, his name torn from her throat in a sound that was half-scream, half-sob. Klaus worked her through it, tongue gentling but never stopping, fingers still moving as she clenched and pulsed around them.

When she finally came down, boneless and gasping, he pressed soft kisses to her inner thigh. His chin was wet, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at her.

"Beautiful," he said simply. "Absolutely gorgeous when you come undone."

Y/N couldn't form words yet. Her brain was still offline, body still singing with aftershocks.

Klaus crawled back up her body, settling his weight carefully over her. She could feel him still hard and straining against his jeans and pressing against her hip.

"Your turn," she managed, reaching for his belt.

He caught her wrist gently.

"Not tonight, love."

"But you didn't—"

"Tonight was about you." He kissed her softly, and she could taste herself on his lips. "About making you feel good. We have all the time in the world for the rest."

"That's not fair," Y/N protested, even as exhaustion was starting to creep in.

"Life rarely is." His smile was wicked. "Besides, I rather enjoyed myself. Watching you fall apart on my tongue was more satisfying than you can possibly imagine."

Heat flooded her cheeks.

"You can't just say things like that."

"I can and I will." He helped her sit up, retrieving her jeans from where they'd ended up on the floor. "Now get dressed before Kol decides to investigate what all the noise was about."

"Oh god." Y/N buried her face in her hands. "Your family definitely heard that."

"Undoubtedly. Rebekah will have commentary. Elijah will pretend nothing happened. Kol will make inappropriate jokes for the next week."

"I can never look them in the eye again."

Klaus laughed, pulling her into his arms.

"Welcome to the family, my love."

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

Two months.

Two months of waking up next to her, of her laugh filling the compound, of sketching her face from memory because he couldn't go more than a few hours without seeing it rendered in charcoal. Two months of the best peace Klaus had known in a thousand years.

And now she was lying to him.

It started small.

A phone call she took in the other room. A text message she angled away from him. Hushed conversations with Rebekah that stopped the moment he walked in.

Klaus told himself it was nothing. Y/N was entitled to privacy. She had friends, coworkers, a life outside of him. Not everything needed to be shared.

But then he caught her whispering with Elijah in the library, both of them going silent when he appeared in the doorway. Saw her laptop screen go dark the second he approached. Found her leaving the compound at odd hours with vague excuses about errands and museum work.

The paranoia crept in like poison.

A thousand years of betrayal had taught him to recognize the signs. The secrecy. The lies. The way people he loved always, eventually, turned on him. His father. His mother. Countless others who'd sworn loyalty and then driven daggers into his back. 

He'd thought Y/N was different.

He'd let himself believe.

Fool.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

Three weeks of watching. Three weeks of cataloging every suspicious glance, every hidden conversation, every moment she pulled away from him. Klaus felt like he was going mad, torn between confronting her and dreading what he might discover.

It became an obsession. He started checking her phone when she was in the shower. Following her at a distance when she claimed to be running errands. Compelling information out of her coworkers at the museum.

Was she planning to leave? Had she realized what he truly was and decided she couldn't stomach it? Or worse…was someone else involved? Someone human, perhaps. Someone who could give her the normal life she deserved.

The thought made him want to destroy something.

He painted obsessively during those weeks. Dark, violent canvases full of chaos and rage. Y/N commented on them once, concern flickering across her face, and he'd brushed it off with a smile that felt like broken glass in his mouth.

"Just working through some things, love."

She'd accepted that. Kissed his cheek. Gone back to whatever secret she was keeping.

Klaus had nearly put his fist through the canvas after she left.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

The breaking point came on a Tuesday.

He'd been in his study, pretending to read while actually listening to Y/N's heartbeat two floors below. She was in the kitchen with Kol, their voices too low for even his hearing to catch clearly. But he heard his name. Once. Twice.

Then laughter.

Something inside him snapped.

He was downstairs in seconds, appearing in the kitchen doorway with a force that made the door frame crack. Kol and Y/N jumped apart, guilty, his mind screamed, look how guilty they look, and Klaus felt his face shift, veins crawling beneath his eyes.

"Out," he snarled at Kol.

His brother's expression flickered between amusement and genuine alarm.

"Nik, whatever you're thinking—"

"I said out."

Kol looked at Y/N, something unspoken passing between them, and Klaus saw red.

"Don't look at her. Don't even think about her. Get out of this room before I remove your head from your shoulders."

"Klaus—" Y/N started.

"And you." He turned on her, a thousand years of fear and betrayal boiling over. "You're going to tell me what's going on. Right now. No more lies, no more secrets, no more whispered conversations that stop the moment I enter a room."

Kol vanished. Smart, for once.

Y/N stood her ground, chin lifting in that stubborn way he usually found endearing. Right now it just made him angrier.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't." The word came out guttural, barely human. "Don't insult my intelligence. I've been watching you for weeks. The phone calls. The texts. The meetings with my siblings behind my back. What is it? What are you planning?"

"Klaus, you need to calm down—"

"Calm down?" He laughed, the sound bitter and broken. "You want me to calm down while you're conspiring with my family? While you're keeping secrets and lying to my face? Tell me, love—" he spat the endearment like a curse— "how long have you been planning this? How long have you been waiting to betray me?"

Y/N's face went pale.

"Betray you? Klaus, I would never—"

"Everyone betrays me eventually!" The words tore from his throat, raw and ragged. "My father. My mother. Everyone I've ever trusted, everyone I've ever loved—they all leave. They all turn on me. So tell me what you're planning so I can at least prepare for it this time."

Silence.

Y/N stared at him, something shifting in her expression. The defensiveness melted away, replaced by something that looked horribly like pity.

"Klaus," she said softly. "I'm planning your birthday party."

The words didn't compute.

"What?"

"Your birthday. I've been trying to figure out when it actually is because apparently no one in your family can agree on a date, and medieval record-keeping was terrible, and I wanted to do something special for you because you've never—" Her voice cracked. "You've never had anyone celebrate it properly. A thousand years and no one's ever thrown you a party."

Klaus felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

"You've been...planning a party."

"Yes." Y/N's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Rebekah's been helping with the guest list. Elijah found some old eviednce. Kol was supposed to distract you while I finished the decorations. We've been working on it for weeks."

The anger drained out of him so fast it left him dizzy.

"I thought..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"I know what you thought." Her voice was quiet. Hurt. "You thought I was plotting against you. That I was going to leave. That I was—what? Having an affair with Kol?"

The silence was damning.

"Oh my god." Y/N pressed her hand to her mouth. "You actually thought that. You actually believed I would—"

"Y/N—"

"No." She held up her hand, taking a step back. "I need a minute. I need—" A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily. "I have spent two months. Two months trying to show you that I'm not going anywhere. And the second things got a little secretive, for your benefit, you assumed the worst."

"I'm sorry." The words felt pathetically inadequate. "I'm so sorry, I didn't—my mind goes to dark places. I can't always control—"

"I know you can't." Her voice broke. "I know about Mikael and your mother and everything you've been through. I know trust doesn't come easily for you. But Klaus, I'm not them. I'm never going to be them."

He wanted to reach for her. Wanted to pull her into his arms and beg forgiveness until his throat went raw. But she was looking at him like he'd shattered something precious, and maybe he had.

"The party," he said quietly. "It's ruined now."

"Yeah." Y/N laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It really is."

"I'll make this right." Klaus took a step toward her, then stopped when she flinched. The small movement carved something out of his chest. "Please, love. Tell me how to fix this."

"I don't know if you can." She wiped her eyes again. "I don't know if there's a way to fix you looking at me like I was the enemy. Like I was capable of hurting you like that."

"You're not the enemy. You're the furthest thing from—"

"Then why did you treat me like one?"

Klaus had no answer. Or rather, he had too many. A thousand years of answers, none of them good enough.

"Because I'm broken," he said finally. "Because my father spent my entire human life telling me I was worthless, and then my mother tried to kill me, and everyone I've loved since then has eventually proven them right. Because some part of me is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize what I am and run."

Y/N was quiet for a long moment.

"I know what you are," she said softly. "And I'm still here."

"I know. I know you are. But the voice in my head—" He tapped his temple, grimacing. "It doesn't listen to logic. It only knows patterns. And the pattern has always been love, then loss, then betrayal."

"I'm not a pattern, Klaus. I'm a person."

"I know." His voice cracked. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so bloody sorry."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with hurt and history.

Finally, Y/N sighed.

"I'm going to go home tonight."

Klaus's heart stopped.

"Y/N—"

"I need space to think. I need to process this without you looking at me like I'm about to disappear." She grabbed her jacket from the back of a chair. "I'm not leaving you. I'm not breaking up with you. But I need tonight to be angry and hurt without having to manage your guilt about it."

It was reasonable. It was healthy. It was the most painful thing she could have said.

"Can I call you tomorrow?" he asked, hating how desperate he sounded.

"Yes." She paused at the doorway, looking back at him. "For the record, it was never about the party. It was about doing something nice for you."

Then she was gone, and Klaus was alone with the wreckage of his own making.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

He found the party supplies an hour later.

Hidden in one of the unused rooms were streamers and balloons and a banner that read "Happy Birthday Klaus" in Y/N's handwriting. There was a guest list on the table, names carefully organized. A menu she'd planned with his favorite foods. A stack of vintage art books she must have spent weeks tracking down.

Klaus sat in the middle of it all, surrounded by evidence of her love, and put his head in his hands.

A thousand years old, and he still didn't know how to accept that someone might simply want to make him happy.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

The compound felt like a mausoleum without her.

Klaus paced the halls for hours after Y/N left, wearing grooves into ancient floorboards that had survived centuries of Mikaelson drama. His siblings gave him a wide berth, even Kol, who usually couldn't resist poking at open wounds, stayed conspicuously absent.

Smart.

If anyone had spoken to him tonight, he might have ripped their throat out.

By midnight, the walls were closing in. Every room held traces of her: the throw blanket she'd left on the study couch, a hair tie on his nightstand, the faint lingering scent of her perfume in the bedroom. It was suffocating. Maddening.

She said she wasn't leaving.

But she left.

She said she needed space.

Space to realize she'd made a mistake. Space to understand that loving him was a fool's errand. Space to come to her senses and run.

Klaus grabbed a crystal decanter and hurled it against the wall. It shattered beautifully, bourbon running down the wallpaper like amber tears.

It wasn't enough.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

The French Quarter was alive at 2 AM. Tourists stumbling between bars, jazz spilling from open doorways, the eternal carnival atmosphere that made New Orleans such perfect hunting ground.

Klaus moved through the crowds like a shark through shallow water. His face was human, his smile charming, but something dark and hungry lurked behind his eyes.

He needed to hurt something.

Needed to feel powerful again, after spending the evening feeling so pathetically, devastatingly small.

The first victim was easy. A man in his thirties, clearly intoxicated, separated from his group of friends outside a Bourbon Street bar. Klaus approached with practiced ease as a friendly local offering directions and a steadying hand when the man stumbled.

"Rough night, mate?"

"Yeah, man. Can't find my hotel." The tourist laughed, oblivious to the danger standing inches away. "Everything looks the same down here."

"Let me help you."

Klaus guided him into an alley with gentle pressure on his elbow. The man went willingly, trusting, drunk enough that alarm bells weren't ringing.

So easy. So pathetically easy.

In the shadows between buildings, Klaus let his face shift. Felt the satisfying burn of his fangs descending, the rush of power that came with embracing what he truly was.

"What the—" The tourist's eyes went wide, fear cutting through his alcohol haze. "What the fuck is wrong with your face?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, mate." Klaus gripped the man's shoulders, pinning him against the brick wall. "This is simply what I am."

He could hear the rapid, terrified heartbeat that was pumping blood so fast it was practically begging to be spilled. Could smell the fear, sharp and intoxicating. Could feel the familiar hunger rising, demanding to be fed.

This was what he knew. What he was good at. A thousand years of violence had made him an artist of death, and tonight he needed to create.

Klaus tilted the man's head, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. His fangs grazed skin—

And Y/N's face appeared in his mind.

Not angry. Not afraid.

Disappointed.

He saw her as clearly as if she were standing in the alley with him. Those eyes that had looked at him with such hurt tonight, now filled with something worse. The quiet devastation of watching someone you love prove they're exactly the monster everyone warned you about.

"I know what you are," she'd said. "And I'm still here."

Still here.

Despite everything. Despite the violence and the paranoia and the thousand years of blood on his hands. She'd stayed. She'd planned a birthday party. She'd coordinated with his siblings for weeks, all to make him feel special.

And how had he repaid her?

By accusing her of betrayal. By looking at her like she was the enemy. By driving her away with the same toxic patterns that had destroyed every relationship he'd ever had.

Now here he was, about to add another body to the pile. Another innocent life snuffed out because Klaus Mikaelson couldn't handle his emotions like anything other than a rabid animal.

What would she think if she saw him like this?

What would she think if she knew that the moment she left, he'd reverted to violence like a dog returning to its vomit?

Klaus's grip on the tourist loosened.

"Please," the man whimpered. "Please don't kill me. I have a wife. Kids. Please—"

The words barely registered. Klaus was still seeing Y/N's face. Still hearing her voice.

"I'm not a pattern, Klaus. I'm a person."

She'd asked him to be better. Not with words, she was too smart for ultimatums, but with her presence. Her patience. Her stubborn insistence on seeing the man beneath the monster.

And he'd been trying. God help him, he'd been trying. Two months of restraint, of choosing her over his worst impulses, of proving that he could be something other than a cautionary tale.

Was he really going to throw that away because she needed one night alone?

Klaus released the man entirely, stepping back so quickly the tourist slumped against the wall.

"What—what are you doing?"

"Changing my mind." The words tasted foreign. Wrong. Klaus Mikaelson didn't show mercy. Klaus Mikaelson didn't spare victims once he'd chosen them.

But Klaus Mikaelson had never had someone like Y/N before.

He caught the man's gaze, letting compulsion flood his voice.

"You're going to forget this happened. You got lost, wandered into an alley, and fell asleep for a few minutes. When you wake up, you'll find your way back to your hotel. You'll call your wife and tell her you love her. And you'll never walk alone in the French Quarter again."

The tourist's eyes glazed over, the terror smoothing into blank compliance.

Klaus bit into his own wrist, pressing the wound to the man's mouth.

"Drink. It'll heal the bruises."

The tourist obeyed mechanically, and Klaus watched the finger-shaped marks on his shoulders fade. Evidence erased. Like it never happened.

When he was satisfied, Klaus stepped back and let the compulsion settle.

"Sleep."

The man slid down the wall, unconscious before he hit the ground.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

Klaus stood in the alley for a long time after.

His hands were shaking. Not from hunger, the bloodlust had faded the moment Y/N's face appeared in his mind, but from something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like shame.

A thousand years.

A thousand years of killing without conscience, of taking what he wanted because he could, of justifying every atrocity with the simple truth that he was stronger and therefore entitled.

And one woman, one stubborn, beautiful, impossibly kind woman, had made him stop.

Not through threats or manipulation or leverage. Just by existing. Just by looking at him like he was capable of being more than a monster.

Klaus pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over Y/N's contact.

She'd asked for space. She'd been clear about needing tonight to process.

But he needed her to know. Needed her to understand that even when she wasn't there, even when his worst instincts screamed for blood and violence, she was still saving him.

He typed out a message, then deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too.

Finally, he settled on something simple:

I almost did something terrible tonight. But I thought of you, and I stopped. I don't know if that means anything. But I wanted you to know that even when you're not here, you make me want to be better. I'm sorry for today. I'm sorry for everything. Take all the time you need. I'll be here when you're ready.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

Then he sat down on a crate in the alley, next to the unconscious tourist who had no idea how close he'd come to death, and waited for dawn.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚 

The reply came at 4:47 AM.

I'm still angry. But thank you for telling me. That matters.

Klaus read the message seventeen times.

It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't an invitation to come over. But it was something.

It was her, still choosing to respond. Still choosing to engage. Still choosing him, even after everything.

He walked home as the sun rose over New Orleans, and for the first time in hours, the weight on his chest felt slightly less crushing.

Tomorrow, he would grovel properly. Would find some way to make up for the ruined party, for the accusations, for the centuries of damage that made him incapable of accepting love without waiting for the knife.

Tonight, he would hold onto those two sentences like a lifeline.

She was still angry.

But she was still there.

And for Klaus Mikaelson, that was more than he deserved.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the compound's courtyard as Klaus stood at the balcony, every sense attuned to the world beyond these walls. He hadn't slept, couldn't sleep, not with the weight of yesterday pressing down on him like a physical force. The text message exchange played on loop in his mind, those precious few words that meant she hadn't given up on him entirely.

I'm still angry. But thank you for telling me. That matters.

He'd read it so many times the screen had burned itself into his retinas.

Now he waited. Listened. 

The compound was quiet. 

Klaus's fingers drummed against the iron railing, restless energy with nowhere to go. He'd showered, changed, attempted to eat something that wasn't bourbon, all the motions of normalcy while his entire being remained focused on one thing.

Her.

And then—

There.

A heartbeat. Familiar as his own name, steady despite what he imagined must be considerable nervousness. The soft footfall of boots on cobblestone. The whisper of fabric, the faint trace of her perfume carried on the morning breeze.

Y/N.

Klaus moved before conscious thought could catch up, vampire speed carrying him from the balcony to the courtyard entrance in the space between one heartbeat and the next. He materialized directly in her path, close enough to touch, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst.

She flinched.

The reaction was small. Just a sharp intake of breath, eyes squeezing shut, and shoulders tensing, but Klaus caught every microsecond of it. Something in his chest twisted painfully.

She's afraid of you.

No. Not afraid. Startled. There's a difference.

Is there?

Y/N's eyes opened, and after a moment, a reluctant smile curved her lips. "Don't think I'll get used to that anytime soon."

"Apologies, love." His voice came out rougher than intended, scraped raw by a sleepless night and too many emotions he didn't know how to name. "I heard you coming and I...couldn't wait."

Pathetic. A thousand years old and you sound like a lovesick fool.

You are a lovesick fool.

She looked tired. Beautiful, always beautiful, but there were shadows under her eyes that spoke of restless sleep, and she held herself with a guardedness that hadn't been there before yesterday. Before he'd ruined everything.

"Can we talk?" Y/N asked. "Properly this time. Without accusations or..."

"Yes." Klaus stepped back, giving her space even though every instinct screamed to pull her close and never let go. "Please. I—yes."

Eloquent. Truly, Shakespeare would weep.

He led her to the courtyard's central fountain, where morning light danced on the water's surface. They sat on the stone edge, close but not touching, the distance between them feeling like miles.

"I got your text," Y/N said finally. "Last night."

Klaus nodded, not trusting his voice.

"What happened? What did you almost do?"

Ah.

He'd known she would ask. Had prepared himself for this moment during the long hours before dawn. But now, faced with those hazel eyes waiting for an answer, the words stuck in his throat.

"I went hunting," he admitted quietly. "After you left. I was...I couldn't stay here, surrounded by reminders of you, of what I'd done. So I went to the Quarter, and I found someone. A tourist. Drunk, alone, easy prey."

Y/N's expression didn't change, but he saw her hands tighten in her lap.

"I had him in an alley. Had my fangs at his throat. And then..." Klaus swallowed hard. "I saw your face. In my mind. The way you'd look at me if you knew. Not angry or afraid, just...disappointed. And I couldn't do it."

"So you stopped?"

"I stopped. Healed him, compelled him to forget, sent him on his way." Klaus laughed bitterly. "A thousand years of killing without conscience, and one thought of you made me release a victim mid-hunt. I don't know if that makes me better or simply proves how obsessed I've become."

"It makes you someone who's trying," Y/N said slowly. "Which is more than I expected, honestly."

"You expected me to slaughter half the Quarter?"

"I expected you to cope the way you always have. Violence, destruction, proving you're the biggest monster in the room." She met his eyes. "The fact that you didn't...that matters, Klaus. It matters a lot."

Hope. 

Dangerous, fragile hope.

"I need to say something," Y/N continued, her tone shifting to something firmer. "And I need you to actually listen, not just wait for your turn to talk."

"I'm listening."

"Yesterday, when you accused me of plotting with your siblings, of keeping secrets..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You were right that I was hiding something. But you were wrong about everything else. And the way you handled it, following me, checking my phone, whatever other surveillance you've been doing–"

Klaus opened his mouth to protest, then closed it.

She knows.

"How did you—"

"I'm not an idiot, Klaus. I know when I'm being watched." Y/N sighed, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. "Look, I get it. You have a thousand years of baggage. Trust doesn't come easy for you. But relationships don't work without it."

"I do trust you," he said quietly. "More than most. It's just—"

"Hard," she finished for him. "I know. But you have to try. You have to talk to me when you're feeling insecure instead of going full paranoid vampire stalker. Because that's what yesterday was, Klaus. You felt threatened, so instead of asking me what was going on, you investigated me like I was an enemy."

The words landed like blows, each one perfectly aimed at the truth he'd been avoiding.

"You're right," Klaus admitted. "I should have asked. Should have trusted that if you were keeping something from me, there was a reason. Instead, I assumed the worst because..." He trailed off, the confession lodging in his throat.

"Because?"

"Because everyone leaves eventually." The words came out barely above a whisper. "Everyone betrays me in the end. My father, my mother, lovers, allies—a thousand years of proof that the moment I let someone close, they'll use it against me. And you..." He looked at her, letting her see the raw vulnerability he usually kept buried. "You terrify me, Y/N. Because I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. Never needed anyone like this. And I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize what I am and run."

"I know what you are." Her voice was gentle but firm. "I've known since Halloween, when you showed me your true face. And I'm still here."

"For now."

"Yes, for now. That's how relationships work, Klaus. One day at a time. I can't promise you forever, no one can promise that. But I can promise that I'm not looking for an exit. I'm not gathering intelligence for your enemies. I'm just..." She laughed softly. "I'm just a woman who loves you, trying to plan a stupid birthday party because you deserve to feel celebrated for once in your very long life."

Klaus reached for her hand, hesitant, giving her every opportunity to pull away. When she didn't, when her fingers intertwined with his, something in his chest cracked open.

"I truly am sorry," he said. "For doubting you. For ruining your plans. For being so bloody difficult that planning a simple surprise required weeks of covert operations."

"You should be sorry." But she squeezed his hand, a peace offering. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to plan a surprise party for someone who can hear a pin drop from three rooms away? Who has supernatural senses and trust issues? I've been losing my mind trying to keep this secret."

Despite the sleepless night, the guilt, and the fear that he'd destroyed something precious, Klaus felt a smile tug at his lips.

"I imagine it's quite the challenge."

"It's impossible. You're impossible." But she was smiling too, reluctantly, and the sight of it made his dead heart stutter. "Next year, I'm just getting you a card."

"Next year," he repeated, the words warming something in his chest. The simple assumption that they would still be together. That this wasn't the end.

Next year.

She's already thinking about next year.

"Yes, next year. And the year after that. And probably the year after that, unless you pull this kind of stunt again." Y/N's expression softened. "I meant what I said, Klaus. I love you. All of you, even the difficult parts. Especially the difficult parts, sometimes. But you have to meet me halfway. No more surveillance. No more assuming the worst. When you feel insecure, you tell me. We talk about it like adults."

"And if I slip?" The question came out before he could stop it, vulnerability bleeding through. "If the paranoia wins and I—"

"I'm not saying it'll be easy.” She shifted closer on the fountain's edge, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. “I'm not saying I won't get angry or frustrated or need space sometimes. But I'm not going anywhere, Klaus. Not unless you give me a really good reason to."

Klaus pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. Her scent surrounded him and underneath it the intoxicating rhythm of her pulse. He could stay like this forever, suspended in this moment where she'd chosen him despite everything.

"I love you," he said softly. "More than I thought possible. More than is wise, probably. You've become the center of my entire existence, and that should terrify you."

"Maybe it does, a little." Her breath was warm against his lips. "But wisdom is overrated."

She kissed him. Gentle but firm. Klaus let himself sink into it, into her, letting the contact ground him in a way nothing else could.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N's eyes held a glint of determination.

"Now, since you've ruined the surprise, you can help me finish planning this damn party. And you have to act surprised when it happens, or I will never forgive you."

"I'm an excellent actor," Klaus promised, unable to keep the relief from his voice. "Centuries of practice deceiving enemies and allies alike."

"You'd better be. I've put too much work into this for you to ruin it twice." She stood, pulling him up with her. "Also, you owe me. Big time. I'm talking jewelry, Klaus. Expensive jewelry. Maybe a small island."

"I'll buy you a country if you'd like."

"Let's start with dinner and see where it goes." But she was laughing now, the last of the tension dissolving between them. "Come on. You can tell me what you actually want for your birthday, since the surprise is ruined anyway."

Klaus followed her into the compound, her hand still clasped in his. The weight on his chest had lifted, not entirely, perhaps never entirely, but enough that he could breathe again.

She stayed.

Despite everything, she stayed.

Don't ruin it this time.

Don't let your demons destroy the only light you've found in a thousand years of darkness.

"Klaus?" Y/N's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Yes, love?"

"That tourist last night. The one you let go." She paused at the doorway, looking back at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "I'm proud of you for that. I know it wasn't easy."

The words hit him harder than any blow. Proud. When was the last time anyone had been proud of him? When was the last time he'd done something worthy of pride?

"It wasn't," he admitted. "But I thought of you, and suddenly...the hunger didn't matter. Nothing mattered except not becoming the monster you'd be ashamed of."

"I could never be ashamed of you." She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. "Frustrated, yes. Angry, definitely. But never ashamed. You're trying, Klaus. That's all I can ask."

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"I'll do better," he promised. "I'll try harder. Whatever it takes to deserve you."

"You already deserve me." She smiled, soft and real. "Now come on. We have a party to plan, and your siblings are probably eavesdropping from somewhere trying to figure out if they need to intervene."

As if on cue, Klaus heard the distinct sound of Kol's footsteps retreating hastily from somewhere above them.

"They definitely are," he confirmed. "Kol's not nearly as subtle as he thinks."

Y/N laughed, and the sound was better than any symphony, any masterpiece, any treasure he'd accumulated over his long existence.

This, he thought, following her into the warmth of the compound. This is worth a thousand years of suffering.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚

New Year’s Eve << Read this next :)

“Dom?”

You get no response.

You watch your boyfriend pace the length of the soundboard for the hundredth time, his hands pulling at his hair as he watches yet another tech run of the song he’s been wanting to add to the setlist.

“STOP! That still ain’t right. The pyros are meant to be timed with the third beat, not the first. How many fookin’ times do I have ta say that?”

Dom pauses, pressing the headphones closer as he listens to the response from on stage. “Then fix the fookin’ timin’, that’s yer bloody job!”

He rips his headphones off and returns to pacing.

“Dom,” you try again. Still, no response.

You glance at your phone. Tech rehearsal was meant to end half an hour ago, and you’d already had to call and push back your lunch reservation. If you didn’t get going soon, you’d have to cancel altogether.

“Dom,” louder this time.

Dom continues to pace, wrapping his arms tighter around himself in the chilly air.

The headphones crackle on the soundboard, and he lunges for them, “Go.”

“Then fookin’ do it. I’m freezin’ me bollocks off out here waitin’ fer ya,” he growls.

Music blares from the massive speakers on stage, and you hold your breath, shivering yourself, wondering whose bright idea it was to book an outdoor gig in May, especially in Michigan.

You watch Dom carefully, seeing his fingers twitch, his foot tapping a fast staccato pace as he watches the stage carefully, his breath visible in the air. You know he’s itching for a cigarette, his ADHD only adding to the urge, but he’s under strict orders from his doctor due to his asthma and the cold.

The first beat drops. No pyro. You find yourself crossing your fingers. Second beat. You’re holding your breath. Third beat. Still nothing.

“FUCK!” Dom yells as the pyros go off seconds later. “AGAIN!”

The music cuts off, and Dom slams the headphones down, “fuck this shit.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

You step forward and pluck the lighter from his fingers. “Absolutely not.”

Dom glares at you, the unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth as he reaches for the lighter. “Gimme the fookin’ lighter.”

“No,” you say. “Doctor’s orders, and you know it.”

“I’m freezin’, and I don’t give a fuck, now give me the lighter.”

You pocket the lighter and cross your arms. “I said no.”

“Fine, be that way,” he turns to one of the techs, “I saw ya smokin’ when we got here, ya got a light?”

“Dom!”

You pull the cigarette out of his mouth and snatch the pack away as well.

Dom turns on you, his eyes flashing, but before he can speak, the headphones crackle.

He whips around and picks them up, not even bothering to put them on, just snarling into the mic, “Go.”

Music blares again. First beat. Second beat. The pyros go off.

Dom throws the headphones down and starts towards the stage. You scramble for the headphones. “Let’s take a break and try again in an hour.”

“But-”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get your asses out of there before he makes it backstage.”

You drop the headphones and hurry down the stairs after Dom, who is already climbing up on stage.

You catch up to him backstage, “Dom!”

“WHAT?” He spins around, glaring at you. “What the fuck do ya want?”

That freezes you in your tracks, your own temper flaring. “I wanted to warm up over some lunch with my boyfriend, but our reservation was an hour ago.”

Dom throws up his hands. “Clearly, I’m a little busy right now. See if they can move it.”

“I already did,” you say, crossing your arms. “The best they could do was forty-five minutes.”

Dom runs his hands through his hair again, yanking at it. “Look, I’m sorry, but I gotta get this fixed first.”

“No, you need to take a fucking break. Your hands are shaking,” you say, stepping closer and reaching for him.

“My hands are fookin’ shakin’ cuz ya took me cigarettes away!”

“Domino,” you say softly, reaching for him again, taking his cold hands in yours for a moment before he yanks them away.

“Yer not me fookin’ mother.”

“Are you sure? Cause you’re being a fucking child!”

“Fuck off.”

You give him a look and try again, “Look, I know you’re stressed, but-”

“Don’t fookin’ coddle me.”

He turns away from you, but you’ve had enough.

You reach up and grab the collar of his sweatshirt, twisting it tightly around your fist, choking him. “Fine. I won’t. You’re acting like a fucking brat, so I’m going to treat you like one.”

You start to walk away, pulling him with you, “Come on.”

Dom stumbles after you, twisting and pulling at his sweatshirt, trying to get free, “Wut? What’re ya doin’? We’re in the middle of tech; we can’t just leave.”

“I gave everyone an hour break to warm up and eat,” you say, ignoring his struggles, “or in your case, cool the fuck down.”

You step to the side and release Dom, letting him stumble past you, his back hitting the wall you’d dragged him to.

You get right up in his face, hard to do when he’s so much taller, practically stepping on his toes, your finger pointing in his face. “Now, you listen to me, and you listen to me good. We’re going to go back to your bus right now before we both freeze to death. And then I’m gonna teach you what happens when you’re a fucking jerk and get rid of some of that stress. Everything will be perfect for the show; you just need to chill out. You got that?”

Dom nods mutely.

“Good, then let’s go,” you say, grabbing his hand. “God, you’re freezing, Dom.”

You drag him the rest of the way through the venue out to the line of buses and shove him up the stairs into his own.

The initial shock seems to be wearing off, as by the time you shut the door and climb the steps, he’s facing you, a cocky, amused grin on his face as he cages you in on the last step, looking down at you. “Yer cute when yer bossy, ya know. Jus’ wanna pick ya up and put ya in me pocket.”

You glare at him, unimpressed. “Move, Dominic, now.”

“Ooo, Dominic, I’m in trouble now,” he laughs.

You reach up and smack the smirk off his face, causing him to stumble back, his hand rising to his face, in shock more than pain.

“You gonna behave now, slut?”

You see the dawning realisation in his eyes and the following shift in his posture, his gaze dropping to the ground, “Yes, baby.”

You're not fooled by it for a second.

The two of you have been together for some time now, although this is your first time a break in your busy competition and training schedule had allowed you to join him on tour. You’d long since discovered your shared kinks and tendencies. Dom, a switch with dominant tendencies, except on those rare occasions when he got truly lost in his head, something that happened much less now since he’d gotten into boxing. You, a switch with very submissive tendencies, who had discovered the thrill of having a man like Dom at your mercy from time to time.

At home, the rare times you were both there, there wasn’t much need for strict rules or set roles; you had your established limits and safewords, of course, but you preferred to go with the flow, feed off whatever vibes you both were putting off when it came to who was more dominant and who was more submissive.

But, when the chance for you to join Dom on tour in the US came up, you’d felt the need to discuss limits and discreet triggers, surrounded as you would be at all times, and with such a busy tour schedule…and also Dom’s penchant for running off stage and immediately trying to drag you off somewhere to have sex.

“Ya might have ta slap me,” Dom had said, “not where other people can see, but the stress might get ta me. I might not hear ya trigger word.”

You’d given him an incredulous look, “I’m not gonna slap you, no matter how much you like it. Not unless we’re in the middle of a scene or something like that.”

“Jus’ don't say I didn't warn ya.”

You cross the narrow space to Dom and crowd him against the wall, pulling him to you in a deep kiss, your hands roaming the length of his toned body. 

Dom scoops you closer, pulling your body more firmly into his, pressing his quickly hardening cock into your stomach, his hands wrapping around your ass, trying to get some friction.

Unimpressed with his antics, you bite down hard on his lip, using the moment to pull his hands off of you and hold them, “And just what makes you think you deserve to touch me right now, hmm? Or that you deserve any kind of,” you lift your knee and rub it against his cock, “friction.”

Dom groans, leaning forward to try to capture your lips in another kiss. You slap him again and then pull his lips back to yours yourself, stumbling back further into the bus, aiming for his bed, dragging him with you, your kisses fierce and demanding.

You finally break apart when your heels connect with the stairs up to the bedroom level, and you both go down in a heap, gasping for air between giggles.

You scramble up first, unwilling to let Dom gain the upper hand and climb up the first few stairs before you realise he isn't following you. 

You look down at him and try to stop the smile forming on your lips at the sight of the goofy look on his face. “Well, come on, then,” you urge, “or I'll come back down there and drag you up by your cock.”

“Ooo, someone's feelin’ feisty, eh? What if I wanted to be in control?” He says, getting to his feet and advancing by a step. 

“Should've thought about that before you acted like such a jerk.” You say in a sing-song voice, taking another step up.

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Have it yer way, just don't expect me ta make it easy on ya, love.”

“You never do,” you say, before spinning around and bolting up the last few stairs, throwing the door to his bedroom open, Dom on your heels the entire time.

You turn to face him, just in time for his entire weight to catch your midsection as he tackles you both to the bed, whatever you'd been about to say cut off with a shriek of surprise.

The two of you roll around trying to pin each other, and for a split second, it looks like Dom is going to win and end up on top, but you manage to wrap your thighs around his head, his nose pressing into the fabric of your leggings between your thighs. You lock your legs, pinning him there, inhaling the scent of your arousal. 

With a show of strength, he manages to rise up on his knees, lifting you into the air, hanging upside down with your thighs still locked around his neck and head, him now holding them in place as he tries to loosen your grip. You bend further back, your body bowing into a C shape as you reach for his waist, yanking his sweatpants and briefs down in one go, freeing his cock.

His entire body stiffens, his cock throbbing, a gasped curse, muffled by your leggings, turning into a deep moan that vibrates through you as you close your lips around his head.

Dom slowly sinks back onto his knees as you continue to suckle on his head, his grip on your thighs loosening.

You lick the underside, along the sensitive vein there, before planting your hands on his knees and unwrapping your legs from his head and lifting them into the air before smoothly flipping back, landing on your feet, standing near the head of the bed, above him on his knees near the edge, a smirk playing across your lips. “Ready to behave, now?”

Dom is looking up at you with a dazed expression, mouth slightly open, his face and neck flushed and his cock throbbing.

You arch an eyebrow at him, refusing to repeat yourself.

Dom seems to give himself a mental shake, his expression morphing into a pout, “No fair usin’ yer gymnastics trainin’ against me.”

You laugh at the petulance in his voice and slowly straddle his thighs, resting your arms on his toned shoulders, “As if you weren't using every ounce of boxing skill yourself.”

You softly kiss his pouting lips, settling yourself more firmly in his lap, grinding down on his cock before pulling away, lifting your sweater up and over your head, tossing it at him with a laugh, “Come on now, we ain’t got all day.”

Dom hurriedly shucks his sweatpants and briefs the rest of the way off, yanking the matching hoodie off. You’re moving just as quickly, both trying to get naked first and take the upper hand. 

In the end, you tie, meeting at the end of the bed, your hands winding into each other’s hair as your lips and bodies crash together.

Dom’s hands quickly drag down your body to your ass, grabbing hold and tugging you closer to him, seeking more direct friction, but you slap his hands away, your lips moving to his neck, scolding him between rough kisses, “No, no, no, naughty boy. Patience.”

Dom growls and puts his hands on your ass again, running his cock through your folds. You stifle a moan by biting, harder than intended, the sensitive spot where his ear and jaw meet, making him hiss and take half a step back. 

You jump at the momentary advantage, spinning him around, pushing him down on the bed, face-first, wrapping your hair tie around his wrists and then rolling him over, pinning his bound wrists beneath him as you straddle his chest, breathing hard, but triumphant. “What…did I…say…about patience?”

Dom struggles, wriggling beneath you in vain, trying to get free, but with his legs hanging off the bed and your weight on him, he can't get any leverage.

You return your attention to his neck, marking a trail down one side and then the other, first with your teeth and lips and then soothing over the marks with your tongue.

Dom whines, “Careful, love. Still gotta go on stage tonight.”

You nip him sharply, right in the hollow of his throat, making his whole body jump beneath you, “Good. Everyone will be able to see that you're mine.”

“Love-”

You huff out a sigh as your lips move along the sharp ridge of his collarbone, “Fineeee. I'll try.”

You move lower, swirling your tongue around one nipple and then the other, suckling on them until they're stiff and perky, and Dom is gasping and twitching beneath you, trying to stifle a low whine deep in his throat.

You flash a wicked grin at him, “I bet those'll be extra sensitive now tonight. Especially in the cold.”

Dom groans, jerking and twisting, trying to get free again. “Yer evil, ya know that?”

You shrug, humming noncommittally as you kiss down his abs, enjoying the feeling of the muscles flexing at your touch. “Someone shouldn't have been such a brat then.”

“So ya keep sayin’.”

“Yup,” you say, popping the p, sliding further down, feeling the hot, wet head of his cock brush against your ass.

Dom sucks in a breath at the brief contact, his hips thrusting upwards, seeking more.

You laugh and spin around, facing away from him, so you can continue your path south, your lips mapping the cross tattoo on his hip now, while avoiding where he needs attention the most.

Dom groans at the loss, and the sight; your naked ass is now firmly in his face, your wet folds just barely out of reach. “Fookin’ hell, love, yer practically drippin’, lemme help ya.”

You lean further down and push your hips back, but still keeping out of reach of his mouth. “Nah, I'm good. Unlike you, I can wait.”

You can feel Dom shifting beneath you, lifting his head and shoulders, trying to reach you, being able to smell and see your obvious arousal, but unable to taste you.

“Baby, please.”

You freeze, your eyes slipping shut for a moment, your cunt clenching as your entire body throbs. Dom's plea, so beautiful and needy, almost breaking your resolve.

You exhale slowly, your breath ghosting over his heavy cock where it rests on his stomach, making it throb and fresh precum well up, joining the rest already forming a small puddle.

Dom whimpers. “Please.”

You do it again, savouring every glorious moment of control over this beautiful man, knowing only you get to hear him like this, only you can truly break him like this. “Please what?”

“Please stop teasin’ me. I need ya.”

You close your eyes, pride welling through you, unable to silence a satisfied hum. “That's my good boy.”

You crawl off of him, turning around and leaning up to kiss him deeply, your tongue sweeping into his mouth as he greedily takes anything you'll give him.

You're both panting for breath when you finally separate; even still, Dom lifts his head, trying to recapture your lips.

You deny him and instead crawl between his spread legs, kneeling between his plush thighs, your mouth hovering over his cock again.

You gently wrap your fingers around his throbbing cock and lift it off his stomach, enjoying his low moan, your gaze caught by the string of precum connecting his head to the puddle of his stomach. 

Your tongue darts out before you can stop it, breaking that fragile thread and following it down, lapping up some of the puddle from his ribs.

Dom groans, but you're too lost, enjoying the delicious tang, your hand gently stroking up and down his cock while simultaneously holding it out of the way so you can bend your head down and devour every drop.

“Ba-by,” the broken word is a desperate plea followed by a quick hitch of breath as you suck him clean, your tongue swiping along your lips as you lean back. 

Dom's cock is sloppy in your now messy hand, throbbing and pulsing constantly, and your mouth drops open slightly as you take in the sight of the rest of him. “Oh.”

Flushed from head to toe except his lips, which have gone white from tension. His thighs tremble on either side of you, his torso is a heaving mass of ink and shining with a sheen of sweat, his eyes have gone almost completely black and hazy with lust, and the patch of skin you'd been consuming is peppered with darker reds and pinks from unintentional marks beginning to form.

“Fuck.”

Dom hisses suddenly, and you realize you'd been unintentionally tightening your hand, now come to rest, on his cock.

You flash him an apologetic smile and gently stroke up and down the length of his cock once before releasing it and crawling up to straddle him, keeping your messy hand lifted in the air. 

Dom whimpers at the loss, closer to the edge than you'd initially realized. You lean down and swallow his whimpers with a loving, gentle kiss, allowing him to taste himself on your tongue.

You lift your sticky hand to your mouth and begin to suck each finger clean, one by one, as you stare into Dom's eyes, watching his reaction. At the same time, your hips begin to roll, grinding your clit through the coarse hair just above his cock, the scent of your own arousal sharp in the air as you realize how turned on you are already, just from tasting him and seeing him like this.

Dom groans, smelling you too, “Please, love. Need ta be inside ya so bad.”

You groan, not even trying to hide it, your hips rolling faster, grinding down harder, sparks of pleasure shooting through you. “Yesss.”

Dom struggles, wriggling beneath you, the muscles in his arms flexing as he tries to pull his hands free. “Lemme go then, lemme-”

You cut him off with a breathless chuckle, “And just what makes you think you deserve any control?”

Dom whines, and you silence him with a kiss, “Now, now, none of that.”

You lean back, lifting yourself up and reaching back, positioning yourself over his cock, feeling it throb in your hand, your body clenching in anticipation as you slowly sink back down.

The first press of him is a stretch, like always, his head pushing hot and thick against you until your body finally gives and he's inside you, helped along by how messy you both are, but it's still a slow, burning slide.

Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, at the feeling of being full, your knees relaxing to the bed, your hips grinding down for a full roll, adjusting to his size. You tip your head back as your hips begin to move, your hair spilling down behind you, your hands skimming up your body, squeezing your breasts, pulling at your nipples, giving yourself over to pleasure. 

Dom groans, struggling again, “wanna touch ya, please, love.”

You open your eyes and look down at him, a wicked grin curling your lips, “too bad.”

You lean down, planting your hands on his chest for stability as you lean down and kiss him deeply, grinding your hips down into him as you do so.

Dom pours everything he can into the kiss, all his desperation, need, and his frustration at not being able to touch you.

You allow him to take this small piece of control from you, your focus turned inward, to the pleasure that tingles through you with every deep grind of your hips, your clit bumping against the ridge of bone as well as the coarse hair at his base, his cock pressing so deep inside of you and filling you up so much you can barely stand it, each rock of your hips causing the head of his cock to brush against a spot that sends a bone-deep pleasure coursing through you.

You continue to ride him like that, grinding down, taking what you want from him, your lips moving from his down to the place where his neck and shoulders meet, burying your face there as your hips begin to jerk, your rhythm lost to pleasure as you reach your edge and then tip over it, muffling your moan against his skin.

Dom groans as your pussy spasms around him, pulsing rhythmically.

“Don't you fucking dare cum,” you gasp out, pushing yourself up enough to start kissing him again, your hips beginning to move again, less grindy now, more rocking, working the entire length of him with your body.

Feeling your edge getting close again, you begin to squeeze your muscles in time with your hips, which are bouncing more than rocking now. The effect on Dom is practically instantaneous, his breath catching, his body going rigid for a moment before his thighs start trembling beneath you. “F-uck.”

You grin, pulling away from his lips to look at his face, a rush of satisfaction joining the pleasure coursing through you as you see the look on his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut, kiss-swollen lips parted, soft little breathy pants escaping them; his thighs continue to tremble and twitch beneath you. “Fuck, love. Ya keep that up, and I'm not gonna last much longer.”

You continue, mercilessly, watching as his teeth sink into his lip as his head begins to jerk back and forth on the pillow, a fresh wave of pleasure flooding through you as you watch him begin to fall apart, because of you. “Fuck. Fuck. Ah. Love. I'm gonna-”

Abruptly, you slide forward, off of his cock, and Dom releases a sob as his impending orgasm disappears.

You're straddling his chest now, panting and twitching yourself, watching as he comes off the edge of his high.

“What the fuck was that for?” Dom's voice is rougher than usual, thready with need.

You lean down and kiss him sweetly. “You needed to be taught a lesson in patience.”

You crawl off of him and gesture for him to sit up and slide forward so his feet are on the ground, then you sit on his lap, noticing the residual shake in his legs and reach around behind him, pulling the hair tie off.

Dom's hands automatically settle on your hips, and you lift your arms, wrapping them around his neck as you lean in to kiss him again. “Did we learn our lesson?”

You can feel Dom's cock, hard and throbbing, hot and wet, pressing against the small of your back, and you're not the slightest bit surprised when he tightens his grip on your hips and flips you over. 

You land on your back with him above you, his hands on either side of your head, boxing you in, and before you even have the chance to draw in a breath, he's pushing into you.

You tilt your hips up, welcoming him in as he sets a hard pace, fire flashing in his eyes as he stares down at you.

He's relentless as he pounds into you with a feral ferocity that you're not used to seeing from him. You fucking love it. Every hard thrust causes your body to slide across the sheets, his harsh panting and the sounds of your bodies slapping together fast becoming a chorus that fills the small space, your barely stifled moans and cries adding lyrics to the symphony of your pleasure.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him in impossibly deeper, your hips meeting with his for every thrust, your nails digging into the angel wings on his shoulders, your body arching into his, demanding more. 

You cry out as Dom finds the spot inside you that makes you see stars. “There we go,” he pants as he hits it again and again. “Not gonna last much longer. Wanna make ya scream fer me. Wanna watch ya cum all over this cock again.”

You're babbling, your nails scrabbling at his back, totally lost to the building pleasure. “Yes. Fuck. Dom. Yes. Please. Yes.”

Dom groans as you both feel your pussy beginning to spasm around him, your thighs twitching, your hips jerking uncontrollably, your entire body a trembling live wire. “That's it, love. Cum fer me. Now.”

That does it. Your entire body seizes up as you cum hard, your eyes rolling back, mouth parted on a silent scream, your nails digging into tattooed flesh as you shatter around him.

You feel Dom pound into you once, twice, and then the hot rhythmic pulsing as he floods you, his face buried in your shoulder, your name on his lips.

Your legs drop from his waist, and he slowly collapses onto you, his weight a familiar comfort as you feel him soften inside you. You stay like that, locked and pressed together, your arms still wrapped around him, his breath hot against your neck; the only sound filling the small room now is of both your panting, the final notes of your shared song.

Your palms skim the muscles of his broad shoulders and back, drowning in the texture of his skin, feeling the rising welts from your nails, the sharp tang of blood joining the scents of sex and sweat and him already filling the space.

Dom lifts his head with a groan, not much, just enough to kiss you gently, both your lips wet and swollen. Your foreheads rest together a moment after before he slowly pulls out of you, a small whimper drawn from your lips at the loss, and then he's flopped on the bed beside you, hissing at the unexpected pain from his back, but opening his arms and pulling you into him all the same.

You lay together now, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, both a mess of sweat and cum, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care.

From somewhere on the floor, the alarm on your phone starts. You groan and start to sit up. Dom's arm tightens around you. “Don't.”

“At least let me turn the thing off.”

He sighs dramatically, but allows you to crawl to the end of the bed and fish in the pile of discarded clothes until you find and temporarily silence the alarm.

You toss the device on the foot of the bed and then crawl back up to Dom's waiting arms. “Fifteen minutes.”

“What's that?”

“Fifteen minutes and then we have to be back.”

“Fer final sound?”

“No. That's not till 5; it'll only be 3.”

“Then why?”

“You'll have time to take one last crack at getting the pyros the way you want them before they need the setlist finalised and us to clear out so they can get set for final sound.”

Dom's hand stops its lazily stroking of your shoulders and you lift your head to look at him, struck by the expression on his face. “What?”

“I love ya, so fookin’ much.”

“I love you, too, but-”

He silences you with a kiss. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Puttin’ up with me bullshit. Takin’ control when I lost it. Just bein’ yerself. I don't know what I did ta deserve ya, but I'm fookin’ grateful.”

You smile softly, taken aback by his little speech for a moment, unsure of what to say, but then you lean up and kiss him again before replying with the truth, “You loved me.”

Your phone alarm begins to chime again, breaking the moment between you. You pick it up and silence it again. “Ten minutes. We should get dressed.”

You slide off the bed and redress, “I'll go put some tea on and get some bacon sandwiches started.”

Dom slides to the edge of the bed and stretches for a moment before hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you onto his lap, kissing you.

You take a moment to kiss him back before gently extracting yourself from his arms, “Come on, if you want to have time to fix that song.”

Dom grumbles, but gets to his feet, which is when you catch sight of his back, letting out a sharp gasp before you can stifle it. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Get dressed.”

You hurry out, closing the door on your way down the stairs, forgetting about the mirror on the back of it.

“What the fuck?!”

You wince and make a mental note to grab some of your makeup to help him cover up all the scratch and bite marks on his back, shoulders, and torso…that is, if he wanted to cover them. 

You consider suggesting he leave his vest on, but you dismiss the thought almost immediately; Dom would rather risk hypothermia than disappoint his fans.

By the child growing beneath your heart.

“You’re staring again.”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Klaus stood near the open balcony doors, coat hanging over one arm, his blue-green eyes fixed on you like he couldn’t bear to look away for longer than a second. Late afternoon sunlight poured over your body where you sat curled in the oversized velvet armchair near the fire.

Seven months pregnant.

Radiant.

His child.

His entire world.

“You’ve become terribly suspicious of me, love,” Klaus murmured, though there was no bite to it.

You snorted softly. “No. You’ve become terrifyingly obvious.”

One corner of his mouth twitched upward.

He crossed the room slowly, like a predator approaching something precious instead of prey. His gaze dropped instinctively to your stomach, watching the subtle movement beneath your dress.

The baby kicked again.

Klaus immediately dropped to his knees in front of you.

Not caring that he was an Original vampire feared across continents.

Not caring that kings had once bowed before him.

Nothing mattered when your hand slid into his curls and he pressed his palm against the swell of your belly.

Another kick hit his hand.

Klaus inhaled sharply.

That look crossed his face again.

That terrifying softness.

Pure awe.

“There she is,” he whispered reverently.

You smiled sleepily. “You say that every time.”

“Because every time feels like a miracle.”

The words came so quietly they almost broke your heart.

Klaus leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss against your stomach through the fabric of your dress.

“My fierce little wolf,” he murmured. “Giving your mother trouble again?”

The baby kicked harder.

You hissed. “Ow—”

Klaus looked genuinely offended.

“She assaulted you.”

“She’s not even born yet, Niklaus.”

“She has your temperament already.”

“She has yours,” you argued immediately. “She becomes violent whenever anyone annoys her.”

Klaus looked deeply pleased by that.

The sound of sharp heels echoed through the hallway before Rebekah appeared dramatically in the doorway carrying several fabric samples.

“Oh good,” she sighed theatrically. “He’s still kneeling. I was worried the apocalypse had arrived.”

Klaus glared.

Rebekah ignored him completely as she swept toward you, dropping silk swatches over your lap.

“I’ve narrowed the bassinet lining to three choices,” she announced. “Cream silk, ivory satin, or this gorgeous lace imported from Paris.”

“Bekah,” you laughed weakly, “she’s a baby, not royalty.”

Rebekah looked horrified.

“She’s a Mikaelson. Same thing.”

Klaus finally stood, though he kept one possessive hand on your shoulder.

“I still despise leaving,” he muttered darkly.

Rebekah rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive.

“For God’s sake, Nik.”

“The Crescent meeting is important,” you reminded him gently. “You promised Jackson.”

“And I regret making promises.”

“You regret everything.”

“I do not regret you.”

The sincerity in his voice silenced the room.

Your expression softened instantly.

Klaus leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours for a lingering moment. “The city feels wrong tonight.”

You frowned slightly.

Klaus rarely admitted fear.

But lately his paranoia had become vicious.

The Strix had been moving quietly through New Orleans. Witches whispered in corners when they thought Klaus wasn’t listening. Old enemies had resurfaced now that the great hybrid finally had something vulnerable to lose.

A family.

You reached up, touching his jaw gently. “I’ll be fine.”

His eyes searched yours like he wanted to believe you.

“You call me if anything feels strange.”

“Nik—“

“Anything.”

Rebekah waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be here. Marcel stationed guards outside. Freya layered protection spells around the compound. Honestly, the child hasn’t even been born yet and she already has more security than the bloody queen of England.”

Klaus still looked unconvinced.

You tugged him down by his collar until his lips met yours.

Slow.

Warm.

Lingering.

His hand immediately slid protectively around your stomach.

“Go,” you whispered against his mouth.

Klaus exhaled reluctantly.

Then another kick struck his hand.

He groaned softly. “She’s conspiring against me.”

“She already knows how dramatic you are.”

Rebekah gagged loudly. “Please leave before I stab one of you.”

Klaus finally pulled away with visible reluctance.

But before leaving, he crouched beside your chair one last time, pressing another kiss against your forehead.

“If she so much as sneezes—”

“I know,” Rebekah interrupted. “Call you immediately. You’ve only repeated it seventeen times.”

Klaus gave her a murderous glare before disappearing through the mahogany doors.

The peace lasted exactly forty-two minutes.

At first it was subtle.

A strange stillness.

The birds outside went silent.

Then—

BOOM.

The compound gates exploded inward with enough force to shake the entire estate.

You jolted violently in your chair.

Rebekah was on her feet instantly.

The scent hit seconds later.

Wolfsbane.

Blood.

Burned sage.

“Y/N,” Rebekah snapped, all softness gone, “get behind me. Now.”

Men flooded the courtyard.

Not vampires.

Not wolves.

Mercenaries.

Armed with dark objects pulsing with magic.

Behind them stood witches in ceremonial black robes chanting under their breath.

Rebekah launched forward with a scream.

She tore through the first attacker instantly, ripping his heart clean from his chest. Blood sprayed across marble floors.

Another man lunged.

Rebekah snapped his neck so hard his spine tore through skin.

“Pathetic,” she hissed.

But there were too many.

And they had come prepared.

Golden light suddenly erupted around Rebekah’s body.

A spell.

She screamed as glowing chains wrapped around her limbs, slamming her into the floor.

Her skin blistered instantly.

“Bekah!” you cried.

“RUN!”

You stumbled backward, panic surging violently through you. Your body was too heavy now, movements slower from pregnancy as you hurried toward the hidden tunnel entrance.

A hand grabbed your wrist.

You screamed.

One mercenary slammed you against the wall while another forced a cloth over your mouth.

The scent was chemical.

Sharp.

Sedative.

“No—!”

You fought viciously.

Kicked.

Scratched.

One hand instinctively shielded your stomach.

“Careful with the hybrid brat,” someone snarled.

Your blood went cold.

The baby kicked violently in distress.

Then—

A needle pierced your neck.

Everything blurred.

The last thing you heard was Rebekah screaming your name.

—

Klaus knew something was wrong before he even reached the compound.

The silence was unnatural.

No guards.

No movement.

No heartbeat.

Then he smelled blood.

His expression changed instantly.

Terrifyingly.

The front doors hung from broken hinges.

Bodies littered the entrance hall.

Klaus moved through the compound in a blur.

“Y/N!”

Nothing.

“REBEKAH!”

He found her collapsed against a pillar, trembling violently, magic burns crawling across her skin.

Klaus grabbed her shoulders. “Where is she?”

Rebekah looked shattered.

“Nik…”

His voice dropped into something inhuman.

“Where. Is. She.”

“They took her,” Rebekah choked out. “The witches—they had dark objects—I couldn’t move—”

The roar that ripped from Klaus shook the entire compound.

Windows exploded.

Paintings crashed from walls.

For one horrifying moment, Rebekah thought he might burn the entire city to ash.

Klaus’s face shifted violently into his hybrid form.

Eyes golden.

Veins blackened.

Fangs descended.

“Who,” he growled, “touched my family?”

—

The slaughter began an hour later.

Klaus tracked them through the city using your scent.

Fear.

Lavender.

Blood.

He found the first mercenary hiding in an abandoned church.

The man barely had time to look up before Klaus slammed him through the altar.

“You took something that belongs to me,” Klaus hissed.

“I—I don’t know where they took her—”

Klaus ripped off one of his arms.

The scream echoed through the church.

“Wrong answer.”

For the next twenty minutes Klaus became something ancient and monstrous.

He compelled confessions between screams.

Broke bones slowly.

Forced another attacker to watch while Klaus tore out his friend’s throat with his teeth.

One witch tried to cast a spell.

Klaus ripped her tongue from her mouth before she finished the incantation.

“Please,” another begged, sobbing.

Klaus crouched calmly in front of him, drenched in blood.

“My child could be dying.”

His voice cracked slightly.

That was somehow more horrifying than the screaming.

“So no,” Klaus whispered. “There is no mercy left in me tonight.”

By the time he got the location of the warehouse, half the docks were painted red.

—

The shipyard smelled like rust and death.

Klaus tore through the warehouse doors hard enough to splinter steel.

Bodies rushed him.

He slaughtered them without slowing down.

A heart ripped free.

A spine shattered.

Blood sprayed across concrete walls.

Then—

“Y/N!”

He heard your scream.

Klaus moved instantly.

The back office door exploded inward.

And the world stopped.

You lay curled on filthy blankets on the floor.

Blood pooled beneath you.

Your face was ghostly pale.

One trembling hand clutched your stomach while contractions wracked your body violently.

“Nik…” you gasped weakly.

Klaus dropped beside you so fast the floor cracked beneath his knees.

“Oh God.”

He gathered you carefully into his arms.

Your body was burning.

Shaking.

“The baby—” you sobbed. “Something’s wrong—she hurts—”

Klaus looked down.

Blood.

Too much blood.

Panic unlike anything he’d ever known ripped through him.

“No no no no—”

Your fingers gripped his shirt weakly. “Don’t let her die…”

Klaus pressed frantic kisses against your forehead.

“She won’t. Do you hear me? Neither of you will die tonight.”

Another contraction hit.

You screamed into his shoulder.

Klaus nearly lost control right there.

Someone behind him moved.

One surviving mercenary.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” Klaus snarled.

The man tried to crawl away.

Klaus stood slowly while still holding you in one arm.

Terrifying.

Blood-soaked.

Monstrous.

“You touched my wife.”

The mercenary sobbed. “Please—”

Klaus ripped his heart out without even looking.

Then he ran.

—

Freya transformed the nursery into a surgical room within minutes.

Candles burned across every surface.

Magic flooded the air.

You screamed again as another contraction tore through you.

Klaus never released your hand once.

Not once.

Even when your nails cut into his skin deeply enough to draw blood.

Even when Freya shouted instructions.

Even when Elijah tried to pull Klaus back because his panic was making the room shake.

“She’s crashing!” Freya yelled.

“No,” Klaus snapped instantly.

“Niklaus—”

“NO!”

Your heartbeat was weakening.

Klaus could hear it.

The baby’s too.

Terror destroyed him.

“I can save one,” Freya whispered desperately. “Maybe.”

Klaus looked like she’d stabbed him.

“You save both.”

“Nik—”

“BOTH!”

You cried out weakly, tears streaming down your face. “Niklaus…”

He immediately leaned over you.

“I’m here.”

“I’m scared.”

That nearly broke him completely.

Klaus pressed his forehead against yours, voice shaking violently. “Listen to me. You are not leaving me. Do you understand? I survived a thousand years before I met you, and every second of it was miserable. You do not get to leave me here alone now.”

You sobbed softly.

Another contraction hit.

Then—

A scream.

One final agonizing cry.

Silence.

Klaus stopped breathing.

And then—

A baby cried.

Tiny.

Fragile.

Perfect.

Klaus stared blankly for a moment like he couldn’t process the sound.

Then he heard a second heartbeat.

Yours.

Weak.

But alive.

His knees nearly gave out.

Freya laughed shakily through tears. “She’s alive.”

Klaus covered his face with trembling hands.

For the first time in centuries—

Niklaus cried.

—

When you woke hours later, firelight flickered softly across the bedroom walls.

Everything hurt.

But you were alive.

You turned your head slowly.

Klaus sat beside the bed still covered in blood.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

Hadn’t slept.

His eyes instantly snapped toward you the second your heartbeat shifted.

“Love?”

Your throat felt raw. “The baby…”

Klaus stood so fast the chair nearly toppled over.

“She’s alive.”

His voice cracked completely.

“She’s alive, sweetheart.”

Tears immediately filled your eyes.

Klaus leaned over the bed carefully, cradling your face in both hands.

“You terrified me,” he whispered shakily. “Do you know what I found in that warehouse? Do you know what seeing your blood did to me?”

“I’m sorry…”

“No.”

His voice turned fierce instantly.

“Never apologize for surviving.”

He kissed you desperately.

Slowly.

Like he needed to reassure himself you were real.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I killed every single one of them,” he admitted quietly.

You blinked weakly.

Klaus’s eyes darkened.

“The witches begged. The mercenaries screamed. One tried to bargain.” His jaw clenched. “I made certain they understood exactly what happens to those who threaten my family.”

A strange softness returned when he looked at you again.

“But none of it mattered until I heard your heartbeat.”

A knock interrupted him.

Rebekah entered slowly holding a tiny bundle wrapped in white lace.

Her eyes were red from crying.

But she smiled shakily.

“Well,” she whispered, “look who finally decided to wake up.”

Your breath caught instantly.

The baby was impossibly small.

Dark hair.

Tiny fingers.

Blue eyes.

Klaus carefully helped you sit up before Rebekah placed her into your arms.

The second your daughter settled against your chest, the room felt complete.

Your baby sighed softly.

Klaus stared at her like she was divinity itself.

“She has your eyes,” you whispered.

“She has your strength.”

The baby suddenly grabbed Klaus’s finger.

He froze completely.

And you watched the most feared creature in the world utterly unravel.

“What shall we call her?” you whispered.

Klaus looked between you and the baby slowly.

His expression softened into something achingly vulnerable.

“Sylvie.”

The name sounded sacred on his tongue.

“Sylvie Mikaelson.”

You kissed the baby’s forehead gently.

“Sylvie,” you whispered lovingly. “Welcome home, little one.”

And for the first time in over a thousand years—

Niklaus Mikaelson finally understood what peace felt like.

She had been the one to befriend Y/N, they met at Mystical Falls High School when Rebekah tried out for the cheerleaders. Caroline had been salty about it but Y/N was happy to invite new people in.

Rebekah took a liking to her in an instant and ended up inviting her round.

That's how Klaus met her. Finding an unknown girl stood in his kitchen in only a tiny little skort and what could barely be called a top. Y/N only smiled at him and introduced herself as Rebekah's friend.

The idea of his younger sister making a friend so easily would have amused him but his thoughts had quickly ran away from him as he took her in. His viewing was cut short when Rebekah shoved him out the way.

"Sorry Y/N, that's Nik." She mumbled as she opened the cupboard to look for something for Y/N to eat. "Damn. We'll have to order something, come on." She shrugged and grabbed Y/N's hand, pulling her back upstairs.

Y/N was over often and Klaus had become accustomed to seeing her in her cheer outfit but that didn't mean he didn't feel anything.

Rebekah had only noticed it when she saw him pull a pillow over his lap part way through a movie. She knew that Klaus had a little crush on Y/N, that wasn't hard to realise with how often he looked at her and how easily his lips upturned in her presence but realising the extent made her smirk.

Rebekah would start 'lending' clothes to Y/N the day after a sleepover, having her dress in tight little shorts and tube tops. Convincing her that she didn't need to wear a bra round the house.

Klaus was almost drooling.

His fingers dug into the couch when she sat beside him after Rebekah had spread herself out across the other sofa. Klaus was too focused on not staring at Y/N's nipples to notice Rebekah's obvious game play.

When it had gotten late and Y/N started getting tired but the film wasn't finished Rebekah decided to push it. "You can always lay down. Nik doesn't mind, he even has a pillow. Just rest on his lap." Her words sounded to passive and innocent that Y/N just glanced to Klaus who, no matter how badly he knew he should've said no, nodded his head and adjusted the pillow.

Before he knew it his fingers were stroking her hair, his hips desperately holding back when she made small sounds on contempt.

Once she was asleep he couldn't help but touch her face, trace each feature. Bekah had gone to the bathroom, leaving him alone with her and his thoughts. He couldn't help but stroke her bottom lip with his thumb. As soon as he heard the door shut his hands were pulled away and he was sat back against the cushions but Rebekah knew what he wanted.

She started having lollipops on hand, always having one to give to Y/N. Klaus was losing it.

Once or twice she'd forgotten to finish her lolly, leaving it somewhere by accident. Klaus would end up licking her taste fresh from it, his eyes closing as he sucked her flavour down.

He could just about restrain himself from acting on his feelings.

Until all his other siblings were woken and also caught onto the situation. Kol would shamelessly flirt with Y/N, purposefully trying to make Klaus flip out. Even Elijah had picked up on it. He'd clear his throat and glance Klaus down, reminding his brother to cover his arousal with an amused smile on his face when Niklaus would go a beat red and pull a pillow over himself again. Kol had started calling it his 'problem pillow'.

Rebekah was subtle but Kol? Brutal.

"Don't tell me Nik's cum on his pillow again!" He'd call loud enough that it made Klaus shoot up out of his seat in panic that Y/N had heard but not quite loud enough that it would travel up the stairs to where Y/N actually was.

"Someone's in a sticky situation-" He'd jest before a book was lobbed at his head.

"You know Y/N if you're feeling stressed, I'm positive Nik would pound it out of you." He'd grin but Y/N didn't get it; thank god.

Klaus would shove Kol out the room, out the house sometimes and storm up the stairs.

Was it embarrassing? Of course. Was it hilarious for the others? Obviously.

"Hi! Are you busy?" Y/N's voice came through the speaker, slightly uncertain. "I'm sorry to interrupt if you are."

"Don't be ridiculous." Klaus pressed his boot down harder on the second vampire's throat when the fool started to squirm. A pointed glare communicated his expectations clearly: make a sound and I'll make this last for days. "I could never be too busy for you, love. What do you need?"

"Okay, so, don't laugh at me—"

"I would never."

"—but I'm currently in your study, and I'm looking for paper. Like, nice paper. Do you have fancy writing supplies? Wax seals? That kind of thing?"

Klaus felt his lips curve into a genuine smile, even as he gave the heart in his hand a warning squeeze when its owner started to lose consciousness. The vampire's eyes flew open, wild with pain and terror.

Stay awake, Klaus mouthed. I'm not finished with you.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said into the phone, his tone light and warm. "There's a drawer in the desk, the one on the left side, second from the top. You'll find stationery, various inks, and several wax seals. The red wax is in the small box beside the inkwell."

"Oh my god, you actually have wax seals. Multiple wax seals." Y/N laughed, and the sound loosened something in his chest. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I've had centuries to accumulate correspondence supplies, love. One develops preferences." He adjusted his stance, grinding his heel slightly when the vampire beneath him tried to inch away. 

 There was a rustling sound, she must be opening the drawer. "Klaus, these are beautiful. Is this actual parchment?"

"Italian vellum, actually. Sixteenth century technique, modern production." The vampire in his grip was turning an alarming shade of purple. Klaus loosened his hold on the heart just enough to allow blood flow to resume. Couldn't have him dying before answering questions. "The cream-colored sheets are best for formal correspondence. Excellent absorption for fountain pen ink."

"You're such a nerd," Y/N said fondly. "A thousand-year-old nerd with fancy paper preferences."

"I prefer 'refined connoisseur of traditional arts.'"

"Nerd."

Klaus chuckled, low and genuine. The vampire beneath his boot made the mistake of interpreting his good mood as distraction and attempted to roll away. Klaus's heel came down on his chest instead, cracking at least two ribs with an audible snap.

He covered the phone's microphone with his thumb.

"Try that again," he said pleasantly, "and I'll remove your spine through your stomach."

The vampire went very, very still.

Klaus returned to the call seamlessly. "—and there should be a pen case in the back of the drawer. The blue one contains my better fountain pens. You're welcome to use whichever you'd like."

"You trust me with your fancy antique pens?"

"I trust you with considerably more than that, sweetheart." The warmth in his voice was entirely unfeigned. "Though I would recommend the Montblanc for everyday writing. The Waterman has a temperamental nib."

"Noted." Another pause, more rustling. "Okay, I found the wax seals. There are like... eight of them? Do you have a favorite?"

"The one with the M is the family crest. The wolf is mine personally." Klaus twisted his hand slightly, eliciting a fresh whimper from the suspended vampire. He shot the man an irritated look. "The plain circle is best for non-family correspondence. It’s elegant without being presumptuous."

"Plain circle it is." Y/N's voice had taken on that particular quality it got when she was concentrating on something. "How do I actually use the wax seal? I've never done this before."

"Light the candle beside the wax sticks, there should be matches in the top drawer. Hold the wax at an angle over the envelope flap, let it drip into a small pool. Wait three seconds for it to begin setting, then press the seal firmly and hold for a count of five. Lift straight up."

"You make it sound so easy."

"Practice makes perfect, love. Though I suspect you'll master it quickly." He paused, unable to resist. "If you'd like, I could give you a personal demonstration when I return home."

"That sounds suspiciously like an excuse to show off."

"I prefer to think of it as sharing my expertise with someone I adore." Klaus smiled, genuinely amused despite the gore currently coating his hand. "Besides, watching you learn new things is one of my favorite pastimes."

"Smooth." But he could hear the smile in her voice. "When will you be home?"

Klaus glanced at the two vampires, one still dangling from his grip, heart clutched firmly, the other pinned beneath his boot with terror etched across his features. This interrogation had been going on for nearly an hour before Y/N's call, and he'd extracted precious little useful information.

"I have a few matters to attend to," he said. "But I should be back within the hour. Perhaps two. I've missed you today."

"I saw you this morning."

"And yet, I still miss you." He could feel the vampire trembling beneath him. 

“I miss you too. I'll be in your study, probably making a mess of your expensive paper."

"Make whatever mess you'd like. It's yours to use." The sincerity in his voice surprised even him. "I'll see you soon, sweetheart."

"See you soon. Love you."

"And I love you."

The call ended.

Klaus tucked his phone back into his pocket with his clean hand, then turned his full attention to the vampire still suspended in his grip. The man had gone pale, his eyes darting between Klaus's face and the hand still wrapped around his heart.

"Now then," Klaus said, his voice losing all warmth, all softness, becoming something cold and ancient and utterly merciless. "Where were we?"

"Please—" the vampire gasped. "I'll tell you everything—"

"You'll tell me everything regardless." Klaus tilted his head, studying the man with detached curiosity. "The only question is how much of yourself you'd like to retain by the end of this conversation."

The vampire beneath his boot whimpered.

"Oh, don't worry." Klaus glanced down at him with a smile that held no humor whatsoever. "You'll get your turn."

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚  

Klaus slipped through the compound's side entrance, moving with the silent grace that came from centuries of practice. Blood still clung to his forearms beneath his jacket sleeves, and his shirt, well, the shirt was a lost cause. Some stains simply didn't come out, no matter how skilled the launderer.

He could hear Y/N in his study. The scratch of pen against paper, the soft muttering she did when concentrating, the occasional frustrated sigh. His lips curved despite himself.

Shower first. Then her.

He made it to his bedroom without incident, stripping off the ruined clothes and stepping under scalding water. The blood swirled down the drain, red fading to pink fading to clear, and Klaus scrubbed until his skin was raw and clean. He dressed quickly in fresh clothes: dark henley, black jeans, barefoot because he was home and she liked seeing him relaxed.

The study door was open when he reached it.

Klaus leaned against the frame, taking in the scene before him with a mixture of amusement and profound affection.

Y/N had, apparently, discovered his collection of quill pens.

Feathers were scattered across the desk, peacock, goose, swan, several exotic varieties he'd collected over the centuries. Ink stained her fingers in at least three different colors. Wax had dripped onto the desk surface in abstract patterns, some successful seals scattered among the failures. Paper, some crumpled, some pristine, some covered in her elegant handwriting, surrounded her like fallen leaves.

She was currently attempting to seal an envelope, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration, a smudge of blue ink on her cheek.

"I see you've been busy," Klaus said.

Y/N startled, nearly dropping the seal. "Oh! You're back." Her face lit up when she saw him, and that expression, the pure, uncomplicated joy at his presence, still caught him off guard every single time. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to appreciate your dedication to destroying my study."

"I'm not destroying it!" She gestured at the chaos around her. "I'm... creatively utilizing it."

Klaus pushed off the doorframe, crossing to the desk. He picked up a particularly dramatic wax failure, a blob that looked vaguely like a melted snowman, and raised an eyebrow.

"This is creative?"

"That was my third attempt. I got better." She held up a successfully sealed envelope as evidence. The wax was slightly off-center, but the impression was clean. "See?"

"Impressive improvement." He set down the wax blob and leaned against the desk beside her, close enough that his hip brushed her shoulder. "Though I notice you've discovered my feather collection."

"Klaus." Y/N looked up at him with wide eyes. "You have peacock quills. Actual peacock quills. I couldn't not use them."

"They're purely decorative. The barbs are too soft for proper writing."

"I figured that out." She held up a peacock feather with a rueful expression. The tip was bent and ink-stained. "After I tried to use it. Sorry."

Klaus took the damaged feather, examining it with mock solemnity. "A tragedy. However will I recover from this loss."

"Don't be dramatic."

"I'm never dramatic." He set the feather aside, then reached down to brush the ink smudge from her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was warm beneath his touch. "What are you writing, love? You've been at this for hours."

Y/N's expression softened. "It's a tradition I have. Every New Year's Eve, I write letters to the people who've been important to me that year. People who've had an impact on my life, who I'm grateful for." She gestured at the stack of sealed envelopes. "I like to give them out before midnight. Start the new year having expressed my appreciation."

Klaus studied the envelopes. He could see names written on several: Jasmine. Camille. Mara. Names he recognized from her stories about friends back home and here. There were others too, Dr. Morrison must be someone from the museum, and Mrs. Chen was likely her elderly neighbor who kept bringing her homemade dumplings.

"You write physical letters," he said. "To express gratitude. Every year."

"Every year since I was sixteen." Y/N smiled, a touch self-conscious. "I know it's old-fashioned. Everyone else just sends texts or posts something on social media. But there's something about a handwritten letter, you know? The effort of it. The permanence. It means more than a quick message that gets lost in someone's notifications."

"It's..." Klaus searched for the right word. The concept was foreign to him. Sitting down to deliberately catalog the people he was thankful for, to express that gratitude openly and vulnerably. He'd spent centuries burning bridges, not building them. Collecting enemies, not appreciating allies.

Silly, his mind supplied. Sentimental. Naive.

But looking at Y/N's face, at the earnest warmth in her eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say any of that.

"It's very you," he finished.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"A compliment. Always a compliment when it comes to you." He picked up one of the unused quills. A proper goose feather, functional rather than decorative, and twirled it between his fingers. "How many more do you have to write?"

"Just two." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "And I need to deliver them before midnight, so I should probably focus."

"Then focus." Klaus settled into the chair beside her, pulling a blank sheet of paper toward himself. "I'll keep you company."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." The words came out more sincere than he'd intended. "Besides, someone needs to supervise your wax technique. That last seal was acceptable, but your angle was off."

Y/N laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. "My angle was fine."

"It was adequate at best. Here." He reached for the wax and candle, demonstrating. "Hold it like this. The wax should drip in a controlled stream, not splatter."

For the next hour, Klaus found himself doing something he never would have predicted: helping Y/N write thank-you letters.

He corrected her wax technique, suggested better ink choices for different paper weights, and listened as she talked through what she wanted to say to each person. He learned about Jasmine, her best friend from childhood who'd supported her through her parents' divorce. About Camille, who'd helped her with her move to New Orleans and called every week without fail. About Dr. Morrison, her mentor at the museum who'd taken a chance on hiring someone so young.

Each letter was personal, specific, filled with details that showed how deeply Y/N paid attention to the people in her life.

She sees people, Klaus realized. Really sees them. And she makes sure they know it.

The thought made something ache in his chest.

"Done!" Y/N sealed the final envelope with a flourish, her technique had improved dramatically, and held it up triumphantly. "That's everyone."

Klaus glanced at the stack. Eight letters total. Eight people who would receive tangible proof of her appreciation, her gratitude, her love.

He hadn't expected to be among them. They'd only known each other since late October. Barley barely two months. Hardly enough time to warrant inclusion in a tradition she'd maintained for seven years.

"I should go deliver these." Y/N stood, gathering the envelopes carefully. "Some of them I can just leave at doors, but a few I want to hand-deliver. I should be back before midnight."

"Do you want company?"

"No, this is something I like doing alone." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "But save me some champagne? I want to be here when the clock strikes twelve."

"I'll have a glass waiting."

She smiled, bright and beautiful, and swept out of the study with her stack of letters clutched to her chest.

Klaus listened to her footsteps fade, the front door open and close, the sound of her car starting in the driveway.

Then he looked at the desk.

The supplies were still scattered everywhere. Ink bottles open, wax sticks half-melted, feathers strewn about like the aftermath of a pillow fight. Y/N had made an impressive mess, but she'd also left everything out, accessible, as if expecting the creative chaos to continue.

Klaus picked up the goose quill he'd been twirling earlier.

Ridiculous, he thought. Sentimental nonsense.

He pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward himself.

What would I even say? Who would I even write to?

The blank page stared at him, accusatory in its emptiness.

Klaus dipped the quill in ink.

Dear Y/N, he wrote, then immediately crossed it out. Too formal. Too stiff.

He tried again on a fresh sheet.

My dearest love,

Better. But what came next?

Klaus stared at the words, at the curve of his own handwriting, at the way the ink gleamed wet against the cream-colored vellum.

A thousand years of existence, and he'd never written a letter like this. Never sat down to deliberately express gratitude, appreciation, love. He'd written threats, demands, manipulations. He'd composed poetry for women he'd wanted to seduce and manifestos for enemies he'd wanted to intimidate.

But this, honest, vulnerable, genuine, this was new.

My dearest love,

I am not a man accustomed to gratitude. I have spent centuries taking what I want, destroying what I cannot have, and burning bridges with everyone foolish enough to care for me. I have been called monster, abomination, devil. I have earned every epithet.

And yet.

You looked at me that first night and you saw something worth knowing. You invited me into your home, your life, your heart, despite every warning your instincts must have screamed.

You challenged me. Laughed at me. Refused to be intimidated by my reputation or my temper. You treated me like a man, not a monster, and in doing so, you made me want to be one.

I do not deserve you. I know this with the same certainty I know the sun will rise tomorrow. You are light and warmth and everything good, and I am a thousand years of darkness and blood and terrible choices.

But you chose me anyway.

For that, for you, I am grateful.

Not just grateful. Transformed. You have made me want to be better, to do better, to become someone worthy of the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching.

I love you. Those words feel inadequate, too small to contain the enormity of what you've given me. But they are true, perhaps the truest thing I've ever said.

Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for staying. Thank you for teaching me that perhaps, even after a millennium, change is still possible.

Yours, eternally and completely,

Klaus

He set down the quill, staring at the letter.

The words looked foreign on the page, vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be. If anyone else read this, they would have leverage over him. Ammunition. Proof that the great Klaus Mikaelson had weaknesses after all.

But this wasn't for anyone else.

This was for her.

Klaus reached for the red wax, lighting the candle with steady hands. He let the wax drip onto the envelope, perfect angle, controlled stream, just as he'd taught her, and pressed his personal seal into the cooling pool.

The wolf stared up at him from the crimson wax.

He set the letter aside, on top of her scattered supplies, where she would find it when she returned.

Then Klaus went to pour the champagne, to wait for midnight, to begin a new year with someone who made him believe that even monsters could learn to be grateful.

𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚⋆˙˚◞♡ ✮⋆˙ ₊˚⊹♡ : ̗̀ 𐙚

Y/N burst through the compound doors with 10 minutes to spare, cheeks flushed from the cold December air, breathless and laughing.

"Made it!" she called out, kicking off her shoes in the foyer. "Don't start without me!"

Klaus appeared in the hallway, champagne flute in hand, an amused smile playing at his lips. "I wouldn't dream of it, love. Though you're cutting it rather close."

"Mrs. Chen wanted to talk. You know how she gets." Y/N was already moving toward the stairs, unbuttoning her coat as she went. "Give me five minutes to change. I refuse to ring in the new year in jeans that smell like her cat."

"Take your time. The clock will wait."

She disappeared up the staircase, and Klaus heard her footsteps padding toward his bedroom. Their bedroom, really, though neither of them had officially acknowledged the transition. Her things had simply migrated there over the past weeks, a hairbrush on his dresser, her favorite sweater draped over the armchair, a collection of hair ties that seemed to multiply on his nightstand.

Klaus returned to the sitting room, where he'd arranged champagne and glasses by the window overlooking the courtyard. The compound was quiet tonight. Elijah had taken Rebekah to some gala across town, and Kol was doing whatever Kol did on New Year's Eve, which Klaus preferred not to contemplate.

He reached into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the envelope.

The letter felt heavier than paper and wax should. It felt like exposure, like vulnerability, like handing someone a weapon and trusting them not to use it.

This is absurd, Klaus thought, pulling the envelope out and turning it over in his hands. I've faced down ancient vampires, werewolf packs, witch covens. I've survived a thousand years of betrayal and violence and war. Why does a piece of paper make my hands unsteady?

But he knew why.

Because this wasn't a battle he could win through strength or cunning. This was surrender, freely offered. This was showing Y/N the soft, wounded places he'd spent centuries armoring over, and hoping, trusting, that she wouldn't recoil from what she found there.

He tucked the letter back into his pocket as her footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Y/N appeared in the doorway wearing one of his shirts, a deep burgundy button-down that fell to mid-thigh on her, and soft sleep shorts beneath. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, slightly windswept from her delivery rounds, and her feet were bare against the hardwood floors.

She looked like home.

"Better?" she asked, crossing to join him by the window.

"Perfect." Klaus handed her a champagne flute, letting his fingers brush against hers in the exchange. "Did you deliver all your letters successfully?"

"Every single one." She took a sip, then made a small sound of appreciation. "Oh, this is good. This is really good champagne."

"1996 Dom Pérignon. I've been saving it for a special occasion."

"And New Year's Eve qualifies?"

Klaus looked at her, at the way the candlelight caught the gold in her hair, at the warmth in her eyes, at the easy comfort of her presence in his space.

"You qualify," he said simply.

Y/N's cheeks flushed, and she ducked her head with a smile that made his chest ache.

Two minutes to midnight.

Klaus could feel the letter in his pocket like a brand. His fingers itched to pull it out, to hand it over, to get this moment of terrifying vulnerability over with so he could stop feeling like his heart was trying to escape through his throat.

Since when do you get nervous? he demanded of himself. You're Klaus Mikaelson. You don't get nervous.

But apparently he did. Apparently one human woman with ink-stained fingers and a tradition of writing thank-you letters had found the one thing that could make a thousand-year-old hybrid feel like a nervous schoolboy.

He glanced at Y/N and noticed something curious.

She was fidgeting.

Her free hand kept moving to the pocket of her shorts, touching something there, then pulling away. She was biting her lower lip, a tell he'd learned meant she was anxious about something. Her eyes kept darting to him, then away, as if she was working up courage.

Interesting.

"Everything alright, love?" Klaus asked, keeping his voice casual.

"Fine! Great. Perfect." The words came out too quickly, too bright. "Just, you know. New Year's Eve. Big moment. Fresh starts and all that."

Klaus raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Whatever was making her nervous, she'd tell him when she was ready.

One minute to midnight.

"I should refill my glass," Klaus said, turning toward the champagne bottle on the side table. It was an excuse, his glass was still half full, but he needed a moment to steel himself. To make the decision.

Just give it to her. It's a letter. Words on paper. You've written thousands of letters in your existence.

But never one like this.

Never one that mattered.

He pulled the envelope from his pocket, grip tightening around it. The wax seal pressed into his palm, the wolf, his personal mark, stamped over words he'd never said to anyone.

Now or never.

Klaus turned, extending his hand with the letter held out before him—

And found Y/N doing exactly the same thing.

She stood there, arm outstretched, an envelope clutched in her fingers. Her expression was a mirror of what he imagined his own must look like: nervous, hopeful, terrified, determined.

The envelope in her hand bore his name in her elegant handwriting. A wax seal, slightly off-center, the plain circle he'd recommended for non-family correspondence, held it closed.

"I—" Y/N started.

"You—" Klaus said at the same moment.

They both stopped. Stared. Looked at the letters in each other's hands.

"You wrote me one," Klaus heard himself say, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears. Rough. Uncertain. "I thought—you'd only known me for two months. I didn't think I would warrant inclusion in your tradition."

"Klaus." Y/N's voice was soft, incredulous. "You're one of the most important things that's happened to me this year. Maybe ever. Of course I wrote you one."

The clock began to chime midnight.

Klaus couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but stare at the envelope with his name on it, at this impossible woman who had looked at a monster and seen someone worth thanking.

She wrote me a letter.

She included me in her tradition.

She thinks I'm important.

The thoughts crashed over him like waves, each one more overwhelming than the last. A thousand years of being told he was worthless, unlovable, a curse upon his family, and here was Y/N, holding out a piece of paper that said otherwise.

"You wrote me one too," she said, eyes fixed on the envelope in his hand. "I didn't expect—I mean, you said the tradition was silly—"

"I never said that."

"You thought it. I could tell."

Klaus let out a breath that might have been a laugh. "I thought it was sentimental. Naive, perhaps. The kind of thing that wouldn't survive contact with the harsh realities of the world." He looked at her, letting her see the rawness in his expression. "I was wrong."

The clock finished its chiming. Midnight. A new year.

"Happy New Year, Klaus," Y/N whispered.

"Happy New Year, my love."

They exchanged letters slowly, almost ceremonially. Klaus's fingers trembled slightly as he took the envelope bearing his name, actually trembled, like he was some green fledgling vampire rather than an ancient Original.

The paper was warm from her pocket. The wax seal bore a slight fingerprint where she'd pressed too hard. His name was written in blue ink, with a small flourish on the K that he found inexplicably charming.

"Should we—" Y/N gestured vaguely. "Read them now? Or..."

"Now." The word came out hoarse. Klaus cleared his throat. "If you don't mind. I find I'm rather impatient to know what you've written."

Y/N smiled, that bright, beautiful smile that made him feel like the sun had risen just for him. "Together, then?"

Klaus nodded.

They settled onto the window seat, close enough that their shoulders touched. Outside, fireworks began to burst over the city, celebrating the turn of the year.

Klaus broke the seal on his letter with careful fingers, unfolding the paper within.

Y/N's handwriting filled the page, slightly uneven from the unfamiliar quill, ink-stained in places where she'd pressed too hard. It was imperfect and earnest and so utterly her that his throat tightened before he'd even read the first word.

He began to read.

And for the first time in a thousand years, Klaus Mikaelson felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

Dear Klaus,

I almost didn't write you a letter this year. Not because you don't deserve one, you absolutely do, but because I wasn't sure I could fit everything I wanted to say onto a single piece of paper. I've gone through three drafts already, and I'm still not sure I'm getting it right.

Two months ago, I met you on Halloween night. I was drunk and ridiculous, dressed as an angel, and you carried me home like I weighed nothing. I thought you were someone dressed up as Klaus Mikaelson. I told you your accent needed work.

I still can't believe that actually happened.

But here's the thing, even drunk, even thinking you were just some guy in a costume, I felt safe with you. You could have done anything. You could have taken advantage of my state, or stolen from my apartment, or a thousand other terrible things. Instead, you put me to bed, left water on my nightstand, and locked my door behind you when you left.

You showed me kindness when you had no reason to. When I was a stranger who couldn't even tell you my last name coherently.

Since then, you've shown me so much more.

You've shown me New Orleans through your eyes, a city that's both beautiful and brutal, full of history and magic and secrets. You've shared your art with me, and listened to me ramble about museum exhibits until I'm sure your ears were bleeding. You've made me laugh until my sides hurt, and held me when I cried about missing home.

You've protected me. Not because you think I'm weak or incapable, but because you care. Because you've lived long enough to know how dangerous the world can be, and you want to shield me from the worst of it.

You've been patient with me. I know I ask a million questions about vampires and magic and your family history. I know I sometimes say the wrong thing or push too hard. But you never make me feel stupid for not knowing. You just explain, with this fond exasperation that makes me want to kiss you.

(I usually do.)

You've let me see you. The real you. Not the monster everyone else sees, but the artist who loses track of time when he's painting. The brother who would burn the world for his siblings, even when they drive him crazy. The man who's been hurt so deeply that trust doesn't come easy, but who's trying anyway.

That last one means more to me than you might realize.

I know you think you're not a good man, Klaus. You've told me as much, usually when you're trying to push me away for my own good. But here's what I see:

I see someone who remembers how I take my coffee. Who leaves little sketches on my desk at work because he knows they make me smile. Who learned about art history periods he doesn't even like because I mentioned being interested in them. Who holds my hand during scary movies and pretends it's for my benefit when we both know he's the one who jumped at the last jump scare.

I see someone who's spent a thousand years surviving, and who's finally learning how to live.

You've changed my life, Klaus. You've made me braver, stronger, more willing to see the complexity in people instead of just the surface. You've challenged everything I thought I knew about good and evil, about monsters and men.

And you've loved me. Fiercely, completely, in a way that makes me feel like the most important person in the world.

So thank you. Thank you for carrying me home on Halloween. Thank you for every moment since. Thank you for being exactly who you are, in all your complicated, frustrating, beautiful glory.

I love you. I'm going to love you for as long as you'll let me.

Happy New Year, Klaus. Here's to all the letters I'll write you in all the years to come.

Yours always,

Y/N

P.S. - I'm keeping the peacock quill I ruined. It's going in my drawer of things that make me happy. Don't try to steal it back.

Klaus stared at the letter, reading it once, twice, a third time. His vision blurred slightly, and he blinked rapidly, unwilling to miss a single word.

He looked up to find Y/N watching him, her eyes soft and uncertain. She'd finished reading his letter too, and he could see the emotion in her face, surprise, tenderness, a hint of wonder.

"Y/N," he began, but his voice caught. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Y/N, I—"

Words failed him. A thousand years of eloquence, of manipulation through language, of poetry and threats and everything in between, and now, when it mattered most, he couldn't find the right thing to say.

So instead, he reached for her.

He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones, and kissed her with everything he couldn't articulate. All the gratitude, the wonder, the disbelief that someone could see him so clearly and still choose to stay.

When they broke apart, Y/N was breathless, her eyes shining.

"I take it you liked the letter," she said, a small smile playing at her lips.

"It was..." Klaus shook his head, searching for the word. "Perfect. You are perfect."

"I'm really not."

"You are to me." He rested his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the small space between them. "Thank you. For the letter. For including me in your tradition. For seeing me."

"Thank you for writing one too." Y/N's fingers traced the line of his jaw, gentle and reverent. "I never expected that. It means more than you know."

"I meant every word."

"I know. That's why it means so much."

Outside, the fireworks continued, painting the night sky with bursts of color and light. Inside, in the quiet of the sitting room, Klaus held Y/N close and marveled at the strange, unexpected gift of being known, being seen, being chosen, not despite his darkness, but with full awareness of it.

"Happy New Year, my love," he murmured against her hair.

"Happy New Year, Klaus"

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