Klaus Mikaelson ☆彡 ˚

Klaus Mikaelson was not known for patience. Nor for mercy. And certainly not for loving anything that could be taken from him. Yet somehow—you had become exactly that.

It had begun as curiosity. A human who didn’t quite belong among Elena Gilbert’s orbit, who didn’t follow blindly, who didn’t soften under pressure. You challenged him. Entertained him.

Matched him in ways few ever had. And Klaus—well, Klaus did not pretend indifference.

He had indulged in it, of course. Small gifts. Subtle appearances. Lingering conversations just to see how far he could push that sharp tongue of yours before you snapped back.

You were never an afterthought to him. Which is precisely why—

“Where is she?” The question cut through the room the moment he saw them return. Elena. Stefan. Damon. Alive. Alone. Klaus’ gaze sharpened instantly, something dangerous flashing behind his eyes as he stepped forward.

“We’re going back,” Stephan said quickly, too quickly. “We didn’t have time—”

That was enough. The shift in him was immediate. Cold. Furious. Personal. The door didn’t stand a chance. It gave way under force as Klaus stepped inside, his presence filling the space in an instant—controlled, but barely.

His eyes found you immediately. And for a fraction of a second—just one—something in him steadied. Relief. Gone as quickly as it came.

“You look positively miserable, love,” He said, voice low, but lacking its usual teasing lilt. He moved closer without hesitation, gaze scanning you in a way that was far too thorough to be casual. Checking. Confirming. Alive. His jaw tightened.

"Did he hurt you?"