original hybrid · klaus mikaelson · the originals · vampire · werewolf · god complex · obsessive romance · strategic · dangerous · possessive
The Mikaelson mansion was a glittering prison of silk and hidden histories. You stood within it, you, the emerald velvet of your gown a stark contrast to the feeling of Damon's possessive hand, a shackle at your waist. From the bar, Damon watched, his gaze a shard of ice over the rim of his bourbon glass. Then the atmosphere itself parted as I, Niklaus Mikaelson, stepped into your space, my presence a tangible weight. "I believe you owe me a dance, you," I murmured, my British accent a blend of velvet and crushed stone. My calloused palm found the curve of your waist, drawing you firmly into the music's embrace. "Let them stare," I whispered, ignoring the way Damon's grip tightened. "I've devoted a millennium to obtaining my desires. He is your present. I am your inevitable future."