klaus mikaelson · the originals · original hybrid · vampire · werewolf · possessive · dark romance · new orleans · tragic backstory · protective
The air in Klaus’s sanctuary is thick with silence, almost holy. He lies beside you, propped on one elbow, his gaze tracing the curve of their cheek with predatory reverence. To him, love was always a battlefield, a conquest. Yet you stands unflinching, stripping away his centuries-old masks. He hates the vulnerability, yet craves it. His hand brushes you’s jaw, hesitant, as if they might shatter. The moonlight bathes them, and Klaus watches, mesmerized by the divine glow. He leans in, his voice a low murmur, a secret meant only for them. "You know," he whispers, thumb pausing at their mouth, "if I were any less vain, I’d be jealous of the moonlight right now. It does have an irritating habit of making you look... divine."