Masterlist

Official masterlist over my fics of Klaus Mikaelson.

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

smut/suggestive - ✧ fluff - ♡ angst - ✦ comfort - ✿

that time of the month ⎯⎯You burrow further into the blankets, voice muffled. “A new body?” ✿

the woman ⎯⎯"Are you quite finished glaring daggers, love? I believe the poor woman is in danger of bursting into flames under your stare alone,“ you merely inhaled sharply and said, "How many women have you been with?” ♡✧

come find me ⎯⎯He cannot. To speak it would be to surrender. To speak it would be to lay his soul at her feet, raw and wanting and entirely hers. ✧

in the eyes of the beholder ⎯⎯"That’s a dreadful attempt at impressionism,“ he comments one evening, arms crossed as he studies your canvas. "Your brushstrokes lack conviction. Have you even looked at a Monet before?” ♡

then we’re even ⎯⎯Like she is something holy, something he was never meant to touch. ✧

breathe with me ⎯⎯His heart clenched. He had seen war, carnage, despair, and yet this—watching you locked in a battle against an enemy that existed only in the shadows of your mind—this felt crueler than anything he had ever faced. ✿

tell me ⎯⎯You tilt your head. “Of course not. Just standing in the dark, whiskey in hand, looking like the embodiment of every tragic poem ever written.” ♡

knit me a threat ⎯⎯“Darling,” he drawled, stepping into the study, “would you happen to know why my coat has been invaded by a miniature version of myself? ♡

torment ⎯⎯Klaus sighs, dramatic, running a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you have like a thing for older men or something?” ✧ ♡

unraveling ⎯⎯His jaw clenches, fingers twitching against the desk. “Because, my love,” he whispers, voice thick with restraint, “I wanted you to feel the ache as I have.” ✧

masquerade ⎯⎯“In a world built on secrets and shadows, we find ourselves dancing in the light of our hidden truths.” ♡

heist ⎯⎯Klaus smirked. “Ah, yes. Borrowing. Without permission. That’s called theft, love.” ♡

road trip ⎯⎯“I don’t need a map,” he replies, completely unbothered. “I have an excellent sense of direction.” ♡

move ⎯⎯“You are the kind of storm that arrives in the dead of night, shaking the windows, rattling the doors. You disrupt. You demand to be noticed.” ♡

argument ⎯⎯His smirk is slow, predatory. “I could steal someone else’s drink for you.” ♡

wildflowers ⎯⎯“Darling,” he drawls, “am I supposed to be flattered or humiliated?” ♡

selene ⎯⎯His eyes flicker with something unreadable. “A love cursed to only exist in the quiet hours of the night,” he muses. “How tragic.” ♡

a wolf’s lament ⎯⎯“You move like a ghost,” she murmurs, and it is not the first time she has accused him of this. ✦

the stars ⎯⎯Klaus hums beside her, hands folded behind his head, fingers threading into the wild mess of curls at his nape. “I think about many things.” ♡

restless ⎯⎯He considered that for a long moment. “Perhaps the moon prefers it that way,” he mused. “Perhaps it doesn’t want to be touched. Perhaps it’s content to watch, to exist in the quiet, to remain untouchable.” ♡

sugar ⎯⎯Klaus grinned at the memory. “Two hours and thirteen minutes. I was quite impressed.” ♡

nik ⎯⎯Because it was the only name that did not come with expectation, with weight, with history. It was just his, just theirs, just a thread between them that refused to break no matter how much the world tried to sever it. ♡

watercolored ⎯⎯“You told that old woman in the market that I was in need of a motherly embrace!” ♡

hold you close ⎯⎯“Shhh.” His lips brushed against your temple, and you nearly stopped breathing. “You wiggle like that again, and I’ll take it as an invitation.” ♡

jealous ⎯⎯“I do hate to steal her away, but—oh, you know how it is. She does have a rather short attention span, after all.” ♡

bleeding heart ⎯⎯“But if there is a day meant to celebrate love, then why should I not love you a little louder?” ♡

the world tilted ⎯⎯Klaus’s scream—raw, unpracticed, and filled with an agony that no immortal soul should ever endure—broke the night ✦

I could have you ⎯⎯“I could have you,” he murmured, his voice like silk, smooth and slow and dangerous. “If I wanted.” ♡✧

antique ⎯⎯"‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day—’" ♡

lavender and chamomile ⎯⎯A rare moment, a mutual understanding. ✿

hammock ⎯⎯The sky above is deepening now, the colors bleeding into something richer—indigo creeping in at the edges, stars beginning to flicker to life, hesitant but present. ✿

marriage auction ⎯⎯Klaus hums, swirling his champagne. “That’s lovely, sweetheart.” ♡

picture day ⎯⎯“You could at least pretend I’m not the most difficult person you’ve ever photographed.” ♡

trinkets ⎯⎯ “I may have acquired it through slightly less than legal means.” ♡

scarf ⎯⎯“Because I’d rather be cold than watch you shiver.” ♡

we ⎯⎯Klaus scowled. “I will throw you into the sun.” ♡

sap ⎯⎯“You’re rather difficult to look away from.” ♡

ghost of you ⎯⎯He carved himself into you, into the deepest parts of your soul, until forgetting him would mean unraveling yourself entirely. ✦

like a man starved ⎯⎯It was nothing. It was everything. ♡✿✦

master chef ⎯⎯“I wanted to do something special,” he continued, finally looking at you. “Something… personal. And what’s more personal than a meal prepared with my own two hands?” ♡

at my worst, at my best ⎯⎯His eyes searched yours, his breath hitching. “I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly. ✦♡

intruder ⎯⎯“You really should get better locks, by the way.” ♡

deception ⎯⎯“Gaslighting implies a level of effort that I am simply not putting in. Deceiving you doesn’t require much.” ♡

gentle waters ⎯⎯He reached for your hand, his touch gentle as he brushed his thumb across your knuckles. “Let me take care of you tonight,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ✿

sweet escape ⎯⎯He smirked. “If this is your idea of fun, love, I worry for you.” ♡

pottery ⎯⎯“Show me what you’ve got, Picasso.” ♡

s'mores ⎯⎯“Nothing,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just more captivating than the stars, that’s all.” ♡

the line between us ⎯⎯“I’m saying,” he interrupted, his voice firm now, “that I’m tired of being just your best friend. I’ve loved you for longer than I care to admit, and it’s agony pretending I don’t.” ♡

the paint beneath ⎯⎯“You always did stare at art like it owed you something.” ♡

blood ⎯⎯"What are you suggesting? A blood beauty contest?” ♡

anything ⎯⎯“Did you… raid every orange grove in the area?” ♡

history ⎯⎯“Perhaps it requires a certain level of intellect to appreciate.” ♡

show me ⎯⎯“I’m not gentle. I don’t know how to love without breaking everything I touch.” ♡✧

you ⎯⎯“You are my destruction, love. And my salvation. My madness and my solace. Do you think leaving spared me? No. It condemned me to a century of torment.” ✦

crawlin’ back to you ⎯⎯“Where are you?” you asked, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. There was a pause, and then he said, “Outside. In the rain.” ♡

fixed ⎯⎯“No. I came because I couldn’t stay away.” ♡

shouldn’t be here ⎯⎯ “Loving you is the only thing in my long, cursed existence that has ever felt easy. The only thing that’s ever made sense.” ♡✦

concert ⎯⎯“It’s not because I think I have the right to you. It’s because I’ve tried—God, have I tried—to stay away.” ♡

vino veritas ⎯⎯“Flattery won’t get you out of trouble if you embarrass me in front of the sommelier.” ♡

not a chance ⎯⎯“Let me guess—you’re mysterious, brooding, and devastatingly complicated?” ♡

canvas ⎯⎯“Have you ever painted me?” ♡

echoes of you ⎯⎯"Klaus Mikaelson wept“ ✦

bold ⎯⎯“If I’m a fool, it’s only because of you,” ♡

kitchen ⎯⎯“Are you telling me you’re challenging me to a dance battle?” ♡

storm ⎯⎯just the two of them, dancing through the storm together. ♡

sparkling commentary ⎯⎯“What can I say? I’m a giver.” ♡

a royal pain ⎯⎯“Exciting? You’re like a cranky old man stuck in a twenty-something’s body.” ♡

burden ⎯⎯Every shadow needs light to be revealed ✦

silent spectator ⎯⎯This was now no longer a game of observation or veiled curiosity. It was undeniably, absolutely, desire ♡✧

kiss me like you mean it ⎯⎯kisses, kisses and more kisses ♡

snowman ⎯⎯ ‘Oh look, it’s Greg—the gallant snowman of the yard!‘ ♡

sweet talker ⎯⎯Maybe klaus isn’t so bad after all ♡

dusty tomes and worm love ⎯⎯“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” ♡

my inner aesthetician ⎯⎯In a warm, candlelit sanctuary, two souls share playful banter as they engage in a soothing skincare ritual. ♡✿

fire and tenderness ⎯⎯In a candle-lit embrace, warmth blooms as tender kisses chase away the cold. With whispered apologies, a spark ignites into passionate connection, where playful banter entwines with sincere affection, promising to shield from the world’s chill. In this moment, hearts intertwine, wrapped in comfort and light. ♡

morning brew ⎯⎯ a timeless soul navigates the soft glow of a quaint coffee shop, enchanted by a vibrant girl who brings light to his shadowed existence. ♡

are you asking me on a date, Klaus? ⎯⎯ The long awaited date between a girl, and an old grumpy original hybrid. (First fic ever) ♡

Series

technique ⎯⎯Then Klaus, in the most delighted tone imaginable, says, “Sweetheart, I do believe you just murdered an innocent shrubbery.” ♡

double it ⎯⎯Then, in the most insufferably smug voice imaginable, Klaus drawls, “Careful, sweetheart. You’re starting to look like you actually know what you’re doing.” ♡

tam lin ⎯⎯And you—always drawn to him, always at his side, your fates tangled like ivy clinging to stone, entwined in a way the world could not unmake. ✦

fae ⎯⎯“You cannot keep him,” you whispered, though your voice was steady. “You cannot have him.” ✦

ever yours, ever mine part I ⎯⎯And no matter what came next—no matter how many lifetimes you lived, how many battles you fought, how many times you lost and found each other again— That promise would never break.

ever yours, ever mine part II ⎯⎯Then—softly, quietly—he said, “I don’t think I was made for happiness.”

ever yours, ever mine part III ⎯⎯Klaus coughed, spitting blood into the dirt. His eyes flickered to you, and that was when they struck him again. You felt the impact as if it were your own. ✦

ever yours, ever mine part IV ⎯⎯"You’re real.” It was a whisper, a breath, a plea.

ever yours, ever mine part V ⎯⎯The witch’s expression softened—not with kindness, but with understanding. “She is something that should not be. Something caught between. Not alive. Not dead. And certainly not human.”

territorial ⎯⎯“Whatever you say, Nik.” ♡

trouble ⎯⎯“Ian,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “What a name. Sounds like he was born to be dull.” ♡

I wouldn’t hesitate ⎯⎯“if I had the chance to fall in love with you again, I wouldn’t hesitate.” ✦

I didn’t hesitate ⎯⎯ “The thought of you being anyone else’s sunlight is something I can’t stomach.” ♡✦

something about me

Last updated: march 22nd 2025, 13:00

and still, I choose you | k.m

Originally posted by bonniebirddoesgifs

⎯⎯ “You don’t ruin things,” Klaus said quietly. “You’re not a ruin. You’re a cathedral. And I would rather kneel outside your door for a hundred years than step inside before I was welcome.”

warnings: none

There was a space between you and Klaus.

Small, invisible, always respected.

It had never stopped him from falling.

He learned you early, as carefully as someone might trace their finger over glass—testing edges, waiting for the echo of a crack. You didn’t like touch. That wasn’t a mystery. You didn’t flinch as much as freeze. Like the moment a hand so much as neared your skin, your body became somewhere you didn’t want to live in.

So he never reached first.

Not even once.

Instead, he offered his presence like a hand held out in shadow. Never demanded. Never closed the gap unless you moved first. The first time you brushed your fingers against his in the garden—just barely, like a breeze—he didn’t so much as look down. Only smiled softly, as if it had been the sun that touched him.

It took time.

Weeks before your shoulder ever bumped his without an apology. Months before you let him tuck a flower behind your ear. But the first time you reached for his hand without looking, twining your fingers with his while the stars hung lazily above the riverbank—you felt him stop breathing.

Not in surprise.

In reverence.

Like you were a spell he didn’t want to break.

He never kissed you.

Not once.

He looked at your mouth like it was something sacred, yes. Like it was the beginning and end of wars. Like if he so much as brushed it with his own, the world might split.

But he never tried.

And you never let him.

Not even when you told him you loved him.

Not even when the words came out shaking and soft, and his whole face changed, and he whispered, “Say it again.”

You did.

And then you took two slow steps back, wrapping your arms around yourself, and murmured, “But I can’t—not that. Not with you. I want to. But I’m scared. And I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t want to ruin you.”

His silence didn’t stretch. It settled.

He stepped forward—not to touch you, but to be near enough that you could feel the warmth of him. The safety.

“You don’t ruin things,” Klaus said quietly. “You’re not a ruin. You’re a cathedral. And I would rather kneel outside your door for a hundred years than step inside before I was welcome.”

You looked up, eyes burning. “But what if it takes that long?”

He smiled.

That soft, crooked one he gave only to you. “Then I’ll wait a hundred more.”

You swallowed hard. “But you… want me.”

“I love you,” he corrected gently. “Wanting you is easy. Loving you like this—that’s the part I cherish. I don’t need more than what you give me.”

“I may never want to—”

“I know,” he said, and his voice didn’t flinch. “And if I live a thousand more years and never so much as taste your kiss… I’ll still consider myself the luckiest man who ever lived.”

You broke then. Not with tears—but with trust.

You stepped into his arms on your own.

And when he wrapped them around you, slowly, delicately, like he was afraid he might break—you didn’t freeze.

You leaned in.

Breathed him in.

Buried your face in the place between his neck and shoulder, and whispered, “You feel like home.”

Klaus kissed the top of your head and said, “Then I’ll stay.”

He didn’t ask for more.

Didn’t press or prod.

Just held you the way he always had—like even the act of being close to you was sacred.

And that night, he slept on the couch again.

Because you still weren’t ready to share a bed.

But when you came out hours later, unable to sleep, and slipped your hand into his without saying a word—he didn’t speak either.

Just pulled you close with the gentlest sigh, tucked a blanket around you both, and whispered, “You’re perfect as you are.”

You believed him.

And that was the real beginning.

thank you to anon for the request <3 hope you like it!

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you haunt me | k.m

Originally posted by sallamie

⎯⎯ “You are so used to taking, Niklaus. It must unsettle you to be the one left wanting.”

warnings: (;

The night air is thick with the scent of rain, though the storm has long since passed. A heavy hush lingers between the trees, the world stilled as if it, too, is waiting—waiting for her.

Klaus stands beneath the boughs, his presence a shadow stretched thin beneath the silver wash of the moon. He has chased ghosts before, but none so exquisite as the one before him now. She is there, poised just beyond reach, wrapped in the hush of midnight, her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite a secret.

“You haunt me,” he murmurs, stepping forward. His voice is rough velvet, edged with something he would never name. “Do you enjoy it?”

She does not move away, nor does she close the space between them. Her silence is a blade against his skin, the sharpest of tortures. “Should I not?” she muses, tilting her head as if considering his torment. “You are so used to taking, Niklaus. It must unsettle you to be the one left wanting.”

Wanting. The word drags across his ribs like a knife. He has known hunger, thirst, the all-consuming need to own, to devour, to make something irrevocably his. And yet—

She is the first thing he has ever craved that refuses to be taken.

His fingers twitch, aching to trace the line of her jaw, to tilt her chin up until there is nothing but him in her gaze. But she is not his to touch—not yet. She will not be claimed, only chosen. And so he waits. And aches. And yearns.

She steps closer then, slow and deliberate, until he can taste the whisper of her breath in the space between them. “Tell me, Klaus,” she murmurs, her voice laced with something dangerous. “How does it feel to burn?”

A low, humorless chuckle escapes him. “Like you already know the answer. Like you intend to keep me in this inferno forever.”

She watches him, the moonlight carving sharp angles into the smooth curve of her cheek. “And if I do?” she taunts, the whisper of amusement laced with something darker.

He exhales, slow and measured, though his patience frays with each breath. “Then I will burn,” he admits, voice thick with something unspoken, “and I will enjoy every second of it—so long as it is your fire.”

She lets the silence settle, lets his words seep into the space between them. Then, with the softest tilt of her chin, she leans in—close enough for him to see the flicker of mischief in her gaze. “You speak as if you have a choice in the matter.”

His lips curl, a slow, predatory smile. “Perhaps I do not. But neither do you.”

Her breath catches for just a moment—a fraction of hesitation, a slip of control. It is enough.

His hand moves before he can stop it, fingers skimming over the barest edge of her wrist, light as a whisper, heavy as a promise. “Do not think yourself untouched by this fire, love,” he breathes. “You stand in the embers with me.”

For a moment, something flickers in her gaze. A spark. A threat. A promise.

Then she steps back, slow, measured, leaving his hand empty, his pulse roaring.

“Perhaps,” she says, as she disappears into the night, “but you are the one left in the ashes.”

And just like that, she is gone, leaving Klaus alone with his hunger, his need, his endless, aching yearning.

He exhales sharply, a growl caught between frustration and something darker, deeper. The night stretches on, empty without her, but he is not defeated. No, not yet.

He follows the whisper of her presence, the ghost of her scent lingering in the air, like a trail meant to be found. A game. A cruel, exquisite game. He smiles to himself, slow and wicked, though there is nothing amused in the curl of his lips.

The hunt is far from over.

༊*·˚

Through the dense trees, the flicker of a lantern glows in the distance, a beacon or a taunt—he does not know. But he moves toward it, toward her, drawn as if by instinct, as if by something written into the marrow of his very bones.

She will not make it easy. She never does.

But that is what makes her his favorite kind of torment.

And so he walks, deeper into the night, deeper into the ache, knowing that when he finds her again, she will slip from his grasp once more, leaving him to chase, to hunger, to burn.

Still, the lantern’s glow draws closer, and with it, her presence sharpens in his senses. She is waiting for him—of that, he is certain.

And then he hears her, her voice lilting through the hush. “So predictable,” she muses, the shadow of her form shifting as he approaches. “Like a moth to a flame.”

He exhales sharply, a breath of laughter tainted with frustration. “And yet you continue to light the fire, love. Tell me—why do you wait for me, only to run?”

She tilts her head, considering him with something unreadable in her gaze. “Perhaps I like seeing how far you’ll follow.”

He steps forward, slow, deliberate. “You already know the answer.”

“Do I?” she challenges, though there is the faintest waver in her voice, the smallest falter in her resolve.

He takes another step, closing the space between them. “You do,” he says, voice low, heavy with something that threatens to consume them both. “You know I will always follow.”

She sways toward him, just a fraction, just enough for him to feel the warmth of her body in the cold night air. “And if I let you catch me?”

His fingers brush against her wrist again, firmer this time, grounding, insistent. “Then you will see what it is to be caught by me.”

A sharp inhale, a flicker of hesitation—but she does not pull away.

Instead, she leans closer, voice barely a whisper against his skin. “And if I run again?”

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his lips a breath away from hers. “Then I will chase you until the world crumbles beneath us.”

She does not answer, not with words. But her fingers curl against his, just for a moment, just long enough to let him know—

The game is not over.

And so she slips away once more, vanishing into the night like mist, leaving Klaus standing in the lantern’s glow, breath unsteady, heart pounding, the chase beginning anew.

hihihhihhihi (maybe it needs a part 2/smut?)

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love-struck fool | k.m

Originally posted by taintedbloodlines

⎯⎯“But considering the company I keep—” he gestures vaguely at you, “—I wouldn’t put it past you to have moved it simply to infuriate me.”

warnings: none I think

The grand library of the estate is shrouded in the warm glow of candlelight, the scent of aged parchment thick in the air. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stretch toward the high vaulted ceiling, filled with countless tomes of forgotten knowledge, bound in leather and dust. It is a place of quiet reverence, of knowledge hoarded and whispered secrets bound in ink.

And yet, at this very moment, it is also a place of sheer and utter chaos.

“Where is it?” Klaus growls, storming through the rows, yanking books from their places and tossing them aside with increasing frustration. “It was here! I know it was here!”

“Klaus,” you sigh, stepping into the library, hands on your hips as you watch the scene before you unfold. “If you’ve lost another book, I swear—”

“I did not lose it!” he snaps, before immediately pinching the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “It has merely… relocated itself.”

You arch a brow. “Books don’t relocate themselves.”

“Perhaps not under normal circumstances,” he admits, straightening and casting you a pointed look. “But considering the company I keep—” he gestures vaguely at you, “—I wouldn’t put it past you to have moved it simply to infuriate me.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. If I wanted to infuriate you, I’d do something far more creative than hiding your precious bedtime story.”

Klaus narrows his eyes. “It is not a bedtime story. It is a rare manuscript, one of a kind, containing valuable information—”

“Oh, forgive me,” you interrupt, lips twitching. “A very important bedtime story.”

He exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring as he glares at you. “Are you going to help me find it, or must I burn this entire room to the ground and sift through the ashes?”

You blink at him. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he challenges. “You underestimate how much I need that book.”

You sigh and step further into the room, rolling up your sleeves. “Alright, alright. What’s it called?”

Klaus hesitates. The silence stretches.

“Klaus,” you prod, “what’s the name of the book?”

He shifts, avoiding your gaze. His voice is lower now, grumbled under his breath. “It… may have a rather embarrassing title.”

Your grin is immediate and victorious. “Oh, this just got interesting.”

“Don’t,” he warns.

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Klaus.”

“No.”

“Niklaus Mikaelson, if you want me to help, you’re going to tell me the name of the book right this second.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine.”

You wait, eyes gleaming.

He exhales sharply. “It’s called—” he pauses, then mutters something unintelligible.

You cup a hand to your ear. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

He glares at you with the heat of a thousand suns. “It’s called… ‘Love Sonnets of the Immortal Heart.’”

Silence.

You stare at him.

He stares back, bracing himself.

And then you laugh. Loud, unrestrained, doubling over as tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“You—” you gasp between laughs. “You lost a book of love sonnets?! That’s what this whole tantrum was about?!”

Klaus scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. “They are very well-written sonnets, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” you wheeze, wiping at your eyes. “But really, Klaus? You could’ve just asked for help instead of destroying half the library.”

He mutters something about pride and meddlesome distractions, but you only grin, shaking your head.

“Come on, you tragic, love-struck fool,” you say, dragging him toward the far shelves. “Let’s find your poetry before you start composing your own out of sheer despair.”

Klaus huffs, but as you set off in search of his lost treasure, you swear you catch the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

just cleaning out my drafts a bit <3

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sharing type | k.p

Originally posted by swampkingkai

⎯⎯ He’s already halfway to imagining their bones broken in alphabetical order.

warnings: fluff

The Mystic Grill buzzed with its usual half-hearted charm—dim string lights flickering overhead, lazy country music floating from the jukebox, and the scent of onion rings clinging to everything like a curse. You sat beside Elena in a corner booth, sipping a strawberry soda through a striped straw, one leg curled beneath you as you listened to her recap the latest Salvatore drama.

Kai and Damon had wandered off to the bar to pretend they could stand each other for more than ten minutes. So far, no blood had been spilled. A win, in your book.

You gave her a sly grin. “They’re growing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Barely.”

Elena glances at you the moment the shadows fall across your table—two strangers, tall, arrogant, too sure of themselves. They lean in, leering, stinking of cheap cologne and worse intentions, voices slick with the same tired charm they’ve probably used on half the bar.

You don’t even blink. Just sip your drink and exchange the look.

That silent, unimpressed look shared only by women who’ve seen gods bleed.
The do they have any idea who our men are? look.
The should we warn them or let them die oblivious? look.

You sigh—long, theatrical, drenched in boredom—and place your glass down with deliberate care. The straw shifts like a white flag in the cup.
Then you twist in your seat, letting them see the full force of your disdain. Your expression could cut glass.

“See that guy over there?” you say, voice feather-light, motioning with your chin toward the bar.

Kai hasn’t looked away since the moment the men approached. He’s perched on the stool like a lounging serpent, elbow on the counter, eyes glinting beneath lazy lashes. Still, there’s nothing lazy about the way he watches. His gaze is lethal—like a knife dipped in something slow and fatal.

He’s already halfway to imagining their bones broken in alphabetical order.

“The one who looks like he’s moments from setting someone on fire with his mind?” you continue sweetly, tilting your head just so. “That’s my boyfriend.”

Elena, perfectly timed, gestures at Damon—who’s swirling his bourbon like it holds the last nerve he has left, already glaring hard enough to burn holes through both men.

“And mine’s the one who’s murdered people for less,” she says with a bright, innocent smile.

The men freeze.

Smirks falter. Confidence flickers.

One of them clears his throat, the sound dry and nervous. “Oh. Uh. You’re with… them?”

“Mhm,” you chirp, rising from the booth like it’s a stage and you’ve just been cued. Elena moves in tandem, the both of you calm, polished, rehearsed.

The strangers barely have time to stammer out an excuse before Kai shifts.

He doesn’t move much—just turns to face them, slow and serpentine, one brow arching with something between amusement and malice. His fingers twitch like he’s already chosen which spell to use. Not if—which.

The men take one look at him—truly look—and bolt like someone shouted fire.

Cowards.

You and Elena stroll back to the bar like you’re returning from a casual walk. Damon spares a glance over his glass and mutters, “Trouble?”

Elena shrugs. “Handled.”

Kai is still watching you, eyes narrowed, chest rising a little too slowly. You reach out and press your hand to his sternum—firm and warm beneath your palm.

“They weren’t worth it,” you murmur. “Just two boys playing brave.”

“I wasn’t going to kill them,” he lies.

You raise an eyebrow.

“I was just mentally planning their funerals,” he amends, with a slight pout. “That’s different.”

You grin, rising up on your toes to kiss the edge of his mouth—the corner, barely there, featherlight. He sucks in a breath like it startles him every time. Like the softness always strikes harder than the fire.

“You’re adorable when you’re unhinged,” you whisper.

Kai huffs. But you see the way he glows under your praise—subtle, hesitant, like he’s not quite used to being loved this way. Not yet. But he wants to be.

Damon groans something foul about lovebirds, but neither of you hear him.

Kai’s already tugging you gently toward the door, his fingers tangled through yours with an urgency he can’t mask.

“Let’s go home,” he murmurs, low and rough into your ear. “Before I accidentally test a fire spell.”

༊*·˚

The door barely clicks shut behind you before Kai’s already kicking off his shoes, peeling off his jacket, and sprawling dramatically across your couch like he owns the place.

And to be fair—he kind of does.

He’s been slowly overtaking your space like ivy: leaving books open on your counters, jackets slung over chairs, a set of rings on your nightstand that you’re pretty sure he thinks you haven’t noticed. His toothbrush showed up in your bathroom three weeks ago without a word.

You haven’t asked him about it. He hasn’t offered. But he’s here more often than not, and you like it that way.

“Movie time,” he announces, claiming the middle cushion like it’s a throne and opening his arms wide like he expects tribute.

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean our movie night? The one where I pick the movie because last time you picked The Shining and then asked why I don’t sleep with the lights off anymore?”

Kai shrugs, wholly unbothered. “Not my fault Jack Nicholson is a cinematic genius.”

“He tried to murder his family.”

“With style,” Kai says, deadpan.

You throw a pillow at his face. He lets it hit him dramatically, like you’ve wounded him. Flops sideways and groans, sprawled like a fallen king.

Eventually, you settle on something safe and cozy—an old rom-com, something where no one dies and everyone ends up kissed. Kai grumbles at first, makes sarcastic comments for the first fifteen minutes, but his hand finds yours anyway. Lazy fingers playing with your knuckles. Thumb brushing over your wrist like it calms him to feel you breathing.

It’s not long before he shifts closer. And then closer again. Until your legs are tangled and his head is buried against your shoulder, nose in your neck like he’s trying to breathe you in.

“You smell good,” he mutters into your collarbone.

You hum, threading your fingers through his hair. “Better than popcorn?”

“Better than blood.”

You snort. “Romantic.”

He grins against your skin. “I’m serious. You smell like… peace. And cinnamon. And that one shampoo that says it’s made of like, eleven herbs and doesn’t specify what any of them are.”

You laugh and tip your head back, letting it rest against the cushions. Kai just watches you for a moment. Soft-eyed. Quiet. Like he can’t believe this is real.

And maybe he can’t.

He shifts again, tugging the blanket over both of you. His arm winds around your waist, snug, protective, heavy in a way that feels more grounding than suffocating. His voice is softer now, low and earnest:

“Thank you.”

You blink. “For what?”

“For not running away. For… making room for me. Even when I make it hard.”

Your hand curls instinctively into his shirt.

“You make it easy, Kai.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for days. You lean in, press your forehead to his, let silence bloom soft between you. The only sound is the TV droning on in the background and the quiet rhythm of your hearts.

Eventually, he murmurs:

“I’d kill anyone for you.”

You smile, eyes fluttering closed. “I know.”

“And I’d only sort of feel bad about it.”

“Progress.”

He chuckles against your skin. “I’m working on it.”

You kiss his temple, slow and fond. “I know.”

And then you both fall silent again. Wrapped in warmth. Wrapped in each other.

Kai Parker—terrifying, reckless, half-reformed mess of a man—falls asleep on your chest twenty minutes later, soft snores muffled against your t-shirt.

You don’t move.

Not even when the credits roll. Not even when your arm goes numb.

Because it’s Kai. And for once, he feels safe. And more than that—he trusts you.

You’re not moving. Not yet.

Not ever, if he had anything to say about it.

thank you to @sc4rrc for the request <3 I hope you enjoyed it!!

feel free to request fics with kai again! <3

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bite | k.m

Originally posted by bonniebirddoesgifs

⎯⎯The thing took a step forward, its voice slipping through the cracks in reality. “You reek of death. Of dying. It’s in your blood, your bones. Do you think he’ll save you?”

warnings: mention of blood, werewolf bite

The night air was thick with the scent of wet earth and pine, the forest swallowing the last remnants of moonlight. She ran, breath ragged, feet catching on roots and stones, but she could still hear it behind her. The growl, low and guttural. The snap of branches under something too heavy to be human.

Then came the impact.

She barely had time to turn before it was on her, weight crashing into her side like a wave of muscle and fury. The pain was immediate—a searing, white-hot explosion as fangs tore into the soft flesh of her shoulder. A scream ripped from her throat, lost to the night, and then—

Darkness.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, half-buried in damp leaves, blood seeping into the hungry ground. When she forced her eyes open, the world swayed. The trees loomed over her, gnarled hands stretching toward a sky that had already forgotten her. Every nerve in her body screamed, but worse than the pain was the heat—burning her from the inside, pulsing through her veins like fire licking at kindling.

She had to move.

The fever set in before she even reached the road. Her limbs felt foreign, her head light, as though she were floating somewhere outside of herself. Every breath rattled against her ribs, and the bite—God, the bite—throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Klaus. She needed Klaus.

The world shifted around her, flickering between reality and something else. Something darker. The trees were no longer trees, but towering figures with hollowed-out eyes. The wind carried voices, whispering her name, pulling at her like unseen hands. Shadows crawled at the edges of her vision, melting into the corners of the road as she stumbled forward.

She pressed a trembling hand against her shoulder, feeling the warmth of blood still oozing sluggishly from the wound. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She could already feel it spreading—this poison, this curse. If she didn’t make it to Klaus in time—

No. She wouldn’t think about that.

A car’s headlights flared in the distance, burning away the darkness for a moment. She raised her arm, her body screaming in protest, and staggered into the road, praying the driver would stop.

The last thing she saw before the fever took her under was the blur of a car door swinging open and the sound of her name, sharp and panicked, cutting through the night.

༊*·˚

The tires screeched against the pavement, the car swerving before lurching to a halt mere feet from her. The world blurred in and out of focus as she tried to steady herself, breath ragged, pulse erratic. The hunger gnawed at her ribs, sharp and insistent, but worse than that was the fever, the fire burning beneath her skin, spreading like poisoned veins of molten lead.

The door slammed. Footsteps. A voice—low, cautious, concerned.

“Miss? Are you—?”

She blinked, and the man was gone. No, not gone—changed. His skin sloughed away like candle wax, revealing something else beneath. His eyes stretched wide, too wide, black pits where his pupils should have been. His mouth twisted, split open with too many teeth, grinning at her like the night itself had given it form.

She stumbled back, breath catching in her throat. Her body screamed for blood, her fangs ached in her gums, but her hands were trembling, shaking so badly she could barely hold them up to defend herself.

“No,” she rasped, though whether she was denying the hallucination or the hunger clawing at her insides, she didn’t know.

The thing took a step forward, its voice slipping through the cracks in reality. “You reek of death. Of dying. It’s in your blood, your bones. Do you think he’ll save you?”

Klaus. She had to get to Klaus.

She turned, her limbs unsteady beneath her, and ran. The darkness chased her, the world warping and shifting at the edges of her vision. She didn’t stop to hear if the driver—if the thing—followed. She only knew she had to move, had to reach him before the fever swallowed her whole.

The trees loomed like silent giants, their skeletal arms clawing at the sky as she stumbled forward. Every breath burned, every muscle screamed, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

Her bare feet, torn and bloodied, sank into the damp earth, mud sucking at her heels as she ran. The sound of her own ragged breathing drowned beneath the thunderous pounding of hooves—no, footsteps—no, something else. She didn’t know what was chasing her, only that it was there, hidden in the black between the trees, whispering, laughing.

A sob tore from her throat. She glanced back, chest heaving, only to see shifting shadows where there should have been nothing. The moon twisted, stretching long, spindly fingers through the leaves, distorting the world into something unnatural.

Run.

The word pulsed through her, not as thought but as instinct, deep and primal. Her legs carried her forward, uneven and weak, her vision blurring with unshed tears. Her skin was burning, fevered, crawling from the inside out, and yet the cold night bit at her like she was already dead.

Dead.

No. She had to find him. She had to—

A branch snagged her shoulder, ripping through cloth and flesh, but she barely felt it. The pain in her arm was worse, spreading like wildfire, molten and unrelenting. Her veins burned, her head swam, and suddenly, the voices were in front of her, waiting.

She choked on a sob, skidding to a stop, eyes darting wildly between the trees. Shadows moved—no, they didn’t. Nothing was there. But something was. She could hear them breathing, hear them whispering, hear the slow, deliberate sound of hooves dragging across the forest floor.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, warm against the ice of her skin. Her hands trembled, fingers curling uselessly in the fabric of her torn dress.

Please.

She didn’t know if she had spoken the word aloud or if it was just another thought swallowed by the fever.

Something moved behind her. Close.

She ran.

And she ran.

Blindly, desperately—her breath hitching, her chest seizing with every ragged inhale. Her limbs burned, her body a betrayer, sluggish from the fever, the venom, the agony coursing through her veins like molten iron.

The night howled around her, branches snapping in the dark, shadows shifting at the edges of her vision. Were they real? Or just another trick of her fevered mind? It didn’t matter. The terror was real. The need to escape was real.

She could still hear them behind her. Footsteps—or hoofbeats—or the low, guttural growl of something closing in.

She didn’t dare look back.

The ground was unforgiving beneath her bare feet, cold and damp, littered with jagged stones and the gnarled roots of ancient trees. Her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to give way, but she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.

Then her foot caught—

A twist, a yank, a moment of weightlessness—

And then she was falling.

The world tilted, the sky flipping over itself, and her stomach lurched before she hit the ground with a brutal, bone-rattling force. Pain exploded through her body. Her shoulder throbbed, white-hot agony radiating outward, a cruel reminder of the bite that still festered, still burned.

The impact knocked the air from her lungs. For a moment, all she could do was gasp, her mouth opening, closing, struggling to pull in oxygen, her vision pulsing with black spots.

Move. Move. Move.

Her limbs flailed, dragging, clawing at the frozen earth, desperation overriding the pain. She had to keep going, had to get up, had to—

Hands.

Strong. Unyielding.

Grabbing her arms.

She screamed.

A raw, guttural sound, torn from the depths of her terror.

She fought. She thrashed, her nails catching on fabric, on skin, on something solid and real. She didn’t know what was holding her, who was holding her, and she didn’t care—she had to get away.

Tears streaked down her face, blinding her, turning the world into a haze of light and darkness. Her mind twisted, distorted, the fever dragging her under, making monsters of everything around her.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Familiar. Soothing.

“Shh, it’s me. It’s me, love.”

Her body convulsed with a sob, her head shaking violently, refusing, unable to believe it, unable to see past the horrors clawing at her mind.

“Look at me.” A plea. Gentle, commanding. Steady. “Look at me.”

And somehow—somehow—she did.

The world stopped its violent tilt.

The dark smears of night sharpened into clarity. And there—

There were his eyes.

Blue. So blue. A color she had known all her life, a color that had seen her in every light, every shadow. Blue like the ocean, like a storm-wracked sky, like something eternal.

Klaus.

Her lips parted, a broken sob escaping, and then—

She collapsed against him.

The last of her strength bled from her limbs, leaving her nothing but a trembling, fevered wreck in his arms. Her fingers curled into his shirt, weak, desperate. Her body shook violently, wracked with chills and pain, and he—

He just held her.

One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through sweat-dampened strands, the other curled protectively around her back, pressing her against the solid, unyielding warmth of him.

And then he saw it.

The bite.

His entire body locked.

The breath he had been holding slipped from his lungs in a sharp, lethal exhale. The world around him blurred—no trees, no cold, no night—nothing but that jagged wound carved into her skin.

A werewolf bite.

A death sentence.

His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together, fury a sharp, electric thing in his veins. The scent of the infection, of the festering venom, coiled in the air like a promise of death. And he—

He knew exactly who had done this.

His grip on her tightened, barely restrained violence coiling in his muscles. Rage burned, hot and consuming, but it wouldn’t help her now. Not yet.

He forced himself to move, to act, to fix this before she slipped any further from him.

Without hesitation, Klaus brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down, tearing through his own skin with the ease of long practice.

The blood welled instantly, dark and rich, dripping slow and steady. He didn’t wait for her to ask. He pressed it to her lips, his voice low, urgent.

“Drink.”

She didn’t move.

“Come on, love,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against hers, his fingers trembling where they brushed against her cheek. “Please.”

Her lips parted.

The first pull was weak. Barely there.

Then—then she latched on.

A sharp breath shuddered through him, relief and something deeper twisting in his chest.

He closed his eyes, his head tipping back as she drank, her mouth warm against his skin. He held her tighter, one arm firm around her, the other still stroking through her hair, soothing, comforting, desperate.

“That’s it, darling,” he murmured against her temple. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”

And he did.

Even as fury seared through his veins.

Even as vengeance coiled in his gut.

Even as he swore to himself, to the night, to the gods who had long since stopped listening—

He would find the one who had done this.

And he would make them suffer.

this was not a request but just something that I wanted to get out. enjoy <3

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