Author's note: This was written for tyrellsmoon for the Klaroline Sweet Swap 2021. I hope you enjoy it! When it turns out her one night stand is the ruthless Hybrid King of New Orleans, Caroline vows to keep her business interests from crossing paths with that cocky bastard ever again. But then she accidentally starts a supernatural turf war...
Warning: Includes a bit of delightful Klaroline smut!
"Wear your heart on your skin in this life."
— Sylvia Plath
Even the air was on the prowl for a good fuck. Hot and humid, it pressed against Caroline's skin as she settled back on the barstool and flicked her gaze around the crowded bar once more. A decent mix of locals with a few adventurous tourists mingled before her, and she languidly stretched like a lazy cat, full and sated. Well, not sated. New Orleans was always hungry. She took another sip of bourbon, letting the strong, rich flavor flow over her, savoring the sweet caramel hint on the tip of her tongue.
It was far from her first drink, and her mind had grown a bit blurry as she considered the crowd, looking for a good time. Someone interesting. But this time, a hard edge was a must. The last one was far too gentle and required constant encouragement and wanted to be held afterward. When she muttered a spell to slip through the apartment wall, he was rattling off potential names for their future children.
She paused to admire the tattoo snaking along the bartender's forearm; the intricate lines of a voodoo spirit were rendered beautifully. Critiquing others' ink was a habit she couldn't shake since she was in the industry. And it was a nice ego boost to see her competition still couldn't match her clean lines and eye for detail. The body was a beautiful canvas and to ruin it with bad ink was a crime against nature.
She cast her eye around the room again, lazily sliding over a few potential candidates as she sipped her drink. There. He looked fun. Caroline examined the blues singer with interest, an appreciative smile curling her lips as she listened to his soulful voice. His movements were too effortless to be entirely human, and the hint of power that she gleaned from his aura shouted vampire. She suspected his hard edge would do nicely.
"I'd reconsider that one, sweetheart. My sister's staked a claim and she doesn't share her playthings," purred a voice in her ear, startling Caroline from her lusty thoughts.
Caroline warily eyed the handsome stranger, reading what she could of his aura. It was...chaotic. There was power there, certainly more than the blues singer that had caught her attention, but it felt muddled, as though his body was still adjusting to a supernatural change. She pushed with her magic again, and it hit her — werewolf. Recently triggered too — within the past year or so if she had to guess. Well, she'd been looking for interesting.
He boldly reached for her drink, taking a sip before she could protest. "Sharp bite, but a smooth finish — a lady of unexpected tastes," he observed approvingly.
"I don't mind a big bite or two — it's the nibblers who always let you down," she replied with a flirty wink. "You're a bit more green than I like in a werewolf, but I might be interested — if you have a handle on your bite."
He looked ridiculously pleased by her assumption, his dimpled smirk making her shiver with anticipation. "My wolf and I are getting reacquainted," he said enigmatically, "but I can assure you I'm always in control of my bite — until you tell me otherwise, love."
Caroline threw back the rest of her bourbon in one gulp, rattling her glass on the worn wooden bar top to signal for the check. It amused her to hear the small noise of protest the stranger made at the implication that she was leaving.
"Let's not be hasty, sweetheart. Why don't I buy us another round and you can tell me your name."
Fuck. That accent was doing it for her. Caroline gave him a coy smile, leaning forward so that her blue tank top dipped low. "It's a 'no names' kind of night, Dimples." When the bartender slid the check her way, she smoothly tapped an obnoxious tourist on the shoulder (the one who'd yelled at a waitress earlier), and muttered a quick spell that charmed him into picking up her tab and leaving the waitress a hefty tip. That'll teach him to throw a toddler-sized fit over some bullshit organic craft beer.
The dimpled stranger laughed, gray eyes twinkling as he ducked his curly head to whisper seductively, "As you wish, little witch."
He brought her to a fancy two-story with sweeping wrought iron balconies, whose rosy bricks likely were as old as the City. Normally, a trust fund baby werewolf would've been a huge turnoff, but he'd already scooped her up into his arms with a feral growl that set her bourbon-soaked brain on autopilot. Fucking hell.
He snapped off one of the straps to her top in his rush to strip her naked, but his touch was so warm, so right, that she couldn't work up the energy to be mad about it. She yanked up the hem of his dark Henley, eagerly groping the impressive muscles underneath. She'd openly admired him underneath the dim lights of the bar, and was pleased to see her artist's eye hadn't failed her — he felt amazing.
Before she could yank off his shirt, he'd spun her around, pushing her up against the gilt and bronze headboard. He hurled curses when his own zipper became stuck, finally using his supernatural strength to shred open his jeans. His powerful body loomed over hers, and he trailed hot kisses down her shoulder, favoring the soft curve of her neck.
"Fuck, your scent is intoxicating," he growled, cupping her ass as she preened beneath him. He mouthed her flank with his blunt teeth, adding with a possessive rumble, "Is that delectable cunt of yours ready for me?"
Caroline let out a needy whine at the harsh thrust, angling her body for more. Dimples was a master with that wicked tongue of his; those growls revealed that the sight of her on all fours excited him.
"Yes, fuck!"
Her hoarse shout spurred him on, and that warm, wet slide of his tongue nearly tipped her over the edge, but then he pulled away and snarled, "You'll come on my cock, little witch." She loved the dominance he showed in that moment, driving his cock deep inside. His raw power made her gasp, and she ground her hips back into him, thrilled that this sexy stranger knew what she needed. Dimples dug his fingers into her flesh, working her along his cock with all the fire and vigor of a man who'd pent up his desires for far too long.
"You fuck with style, wolf."
His hips stuttered at her words, and he slammed into her over and over, the pleasurable roar that escaped his lips told her that he got off on being called wolf.
"Big. Bad. Wolf," she purred, pushing back against him to feel every inch of his beautiful body.
Yes. Almost there. His growls grew louder and he moved with a sensual aggression that fed a grasping, desperate part of her that she didn't like to acknowledge. In her euphoria, she banged the bronze scrollwork of his headboard against the wall, chasing her orgasm.
"Naughty little witch," he sighed in her ear, sliding a hand underneath to toy with her clit as he shuddered, coming down from his high as they fell to the bed in a sweaty, sated heap.
Caroline slid her body along the cool silk sheets, the sensual fabric pooling between them. Dimples really liked to pamper himself. She let her gaze lazily drift over his body, finally bare and just as lovely as she'd imagined. Starting with his thighs, she traced a finger along his incredible musculature. Perfectly unmarred, his skin would be the perfect canvas to tattoo.
Until she saw his chest. A graceful feather that exploded into birds was beautifully inked there; the line work was some of the best she'd seen in her career. She knew this tattoo. Despite her insistence to stay far, far away from supernatural politics, even she'd heard of Klaus Mikaelson. Fuckity fuck fuck. She'd fucked Klaus Mikaelson. And would very much like to do it again. She quickly brushed that dangerous thought away, flashing him a seductive smile as she slowly got up from the bed. "Bathroom?"
He raised a questioning eyebrow, but nodded to the door down the hall. There was an endearing hopefulness to his voice as he asked, "And when you get back, perhaps I can show you what excellent bite control I have?"
Caroline laughed, inwardly cringing at how hollow it sounded. Everyone knew of the Original Hybrid's bloodthirsty and ruthless reputation, and she'd made it her business to ensure she and her little tattoo shop never crossed paths with this violent psychopath. So, job well done then.
She barely resisted the urge not to sprint down the hall, closing the bathroom door gratefully. She rested her head against the gaudy gilt-edged fleur-de-lis design, snorting softly. She should've realized from the pretentious luxury that he was more than some trust fund baby werewolf. She rolled her eyes, realizing she had plenty of time to beat herself up about her poor life choices, but right now, her immediate problem was being naked in the bathroom of an immortal serial killer whose childish temper tantrums could level the entire Quarter.
She could feel his presence outside of the door, and realized her narrow window of escape was fast closing. Quickly muttering a spell, she slipped through the wall, the rough brick scraping her back as she clung to the drainpipe to wobbly climb down to the street below. The fluffy towel she'd grabbed on her way out helped her anchor an easy glamor spell to make it look like she was wearing a simple sundress. Breathing a sigh of relief as she effortlessly slipped into the crowds of tourists, she vowed to stop making stupid decisions when drunk.
Tomorrow would prove she was good at making them while sober too.
Mystic Tattoos was sandwiched between a liquor store and a tiny souvenir shop with the dusty plate glass taped up. Caroline purposely chose Iberville Street because it once was part of New Orleans' red light district and that kind of salacious history always called to a witch's power. Plus, the rent was cheap. Not to mention the rundown neighborhood of Faubourg Tremé spooked the tourists enough that few ventured this far out of the Quarter. She worked hard to fit in here, and had zero interest in the petty supernatural squabbles that plagued the City. Which is why she made it her mission to stay far, far away from Klaus. Last night was a one-time thing not to be repeated.
She did her best to lose herself in work; focusing on her client consultation and listening not only to what he was saying but also what her magic told her. By reaching out with her power to 'read' her customer, Caroline could capture the essence of the tattoo they wanted, often before they knew themselves. The vampire had surprised her; at first, he described a completely predictable tribal tattoo, but then she lightly prodded with her spellwork and uncovered the secret affair he'd been carrying on with a witch whose coven rebelled against the Hybrid King.
With a secret smile, Caroline subtly incorporated the triquetra, a traditional witch symbol, into the tribal sketch and wordlessly held it up for his approval. The vampire's eyes widened, and he wordlessly nodded, clearly uncomfortable discussing his secret with her. Once they settled on the proper placement along his bicep, she began prepping the canvas by shaving any stray hairs and then sterilizing the area. She'd just finished lining up her extra tattoo needles and ink containers when the door to her shop banged open, rattling the loose window panes.
"Nightwalker," came the snarling voice of the newcomer as he stormed across the room.
She narrowed her eyes, realizing this was one of the Guerrera brothers, part of a powerful werewolf clan. And lately they'd been feuding with the lesser vampires like this nightwalker. Fuck. Straightening her spine, she slowly rose from the shop stool, the squeaky wheels jarring in their cheerfulness given the tense situation.
"Not in my shop," she threatened, sounding much more confident than she felt. Pointing toward the door, she commanded, "Take it outside, boys." They both stiffened at her tone, turning their growling beasts on her.
"Bitch," the vampire spat, taking a dangerous step toward her, "You don't give me orders!" When he lunged, slamming her into the side table, she let the force propel her directly into her tools, scrabbling for a weapon. She'd never tested the theory that a stake didn't have to be wooden, but she grabbed her handheld tattoo machine and hoped for the best. She got the motor whirring just as the vampire leapt at her, and managed to jab the sharpened needle tube into his chest.
Unfortunately, her aim was off, and the vampire pulled away with a hiss. She quickly chanted, clenching her fist as she channeled enough power to force the needle through muscle, ripping apart undead flesh until she found the heart. As he disintegrated before her eyes, she glanced over at the Guerrera wolf, who regarded her with a cold, calculating stare.
The Guerrera family was part of an organized crime syndicate, carving their territory out of the casino and part of the docks, and the last thing she needed to do was start a turf war with the supernatural mob in addition to Klaus' pretentious kingdom. Not taking her eyes off of what she thought was one of the clan's younger brothers, she stood her ground, careful not to challenge, but also doing her best not to appear weak. She refused to be intimidated in her own shop. "Leave."
He scoffed, but finally stomped out, banging the door behind him until the welcome sign clattered to the concrete.
Fuck the glass of merlot — it was going to take the whole bottle tonight.
Caroline walked home underneath the blinding glow of the streetlamps, pleased to see her magic still kept them going. She wondered if the City ever questioned how the lampposts worked with missing bulbs and frayed wiring. Walking by yourself around here was dangerous — even without the supernatural drama. A girl had enough on her mind without having to jump at every shadow.
"Holy shit, aren't you just the dumbest of bitches? You pick a fight with a werewolf and then walk home alone?"
Fuck. The Guerrera wolf was back. Dark eyes glittered with malice, and while it wasn't a full moon, that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. Winding her hands around the ends of her long scarf, she admonished, "Seriously?! Let's not, okay? Last night turned into a shit night for me, and tonight's not shaping up to be much better." Shaking her head, she entreated tiredly, "So, you back off and I'll back off, and we'll forget today happened."
She felt the impact before she saw it, and they landed together on the broken sidewalk with a jarring thud. Heart racing, she quickly pushed with her magic, chanting a protection spell as she floated the scarf around his thick neck. Smoke began rising from his skin and he screeched, clawing uselessly at the fabric.
"I knitted wolfsbane and glamoured it," Caroline explained with a wicked smile, letting him writhe a bit more before she knelt down to help him. However, layered magic takes a few moments to unravel, and by the time she realized the wolf had an extreme allergy to wolfsbane, it was too late.
Fuck. She accidentally killed a werewolf. One connected to the mob. On the same day she killed one of Klaus' idiot vampire minions.
It was going to be a two-bottle night.
The protection barrier was so strong the drunk tourists got a face full of splash back when they tried to pee on the corner. Despite her frayed nerves, Caroline giggled hysterically as she watched from her shop window. She didn't know what the fallout of last night's accidental murder spree would be, but fortifying her tattoo parlor with the strongest warding spells she had seemed like a good first step.
"I should've brought my umbrella."
Fuck. Klaus suddenly stood in front of her, only the dusty windowpane between them. Her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest, but she couldn't stop staring at those damn dimples. And that accent. Even muffled by the barrier spell, his voice was a velvet purr that made her skin vibrate.
Clearly amused by her flustered silence, he said, "Imagine my surprise to learn that the rebellious little witch who attempted a coup was the delightful bedmate I've been searching for ever since she rudely fled."
"Seriously?! I wasn't trying to stage a coup!"
Flashing a dimpled smirk, Klaus teased, "You murdered my lieutenant's favorite nightwalker and then murdered the favorite son of the Guerreras, thus creating a power vacuum in an already volatile werewolf clan. What, pray tell, was your goal?"
Her temper flared and Caroline forgot her fear as she sputtered, "Everyone heard about the time you fed a waiter his nose when he brought you cold beignets! Like I'm going to text the beignet murderer, 'Oops, I murdered again, but I pinky swear it's not coup.'"
"So, you were going to text me then?"
She absolutely refused to find the hopefulness in his voice charming. "That's all you got out of that?!" Shaking her head in exasperation, she told him, "Since you're not all murdery Hybrid King today, can I assume you're not here to eat me and we can call it a truce?"
Hybrid gold flared in his gaze as he said seductively, "You seemed to enjoy it when I eat you, sweetheart. Now, why don't you remove this cumbersome barrier spell and I'll give you a proper reminder?"
Nope. Not happening. Caroline fought down the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks. No more one night stands with the crazy Hybrid King. "Do we have a truce," she asked sharply, hiding her trembling hands. She refused to let a pretty face distract her. Ensure your survival.
"I'd be delighted to reach an accord. In exchange for the occasional spell, I offer protection from those under my rule as well as those outside of my territory."
Raising a skeptical eyebrow, she stated, "AND you'll leave me and my business alone outside of the six spells per year I'll perform?"
"Twelve spells."
"Seven."
"Very well — seven spells, but I get a proper date this time, love," Klaus conceded with a twinkle in his eye.
Hands on her hips, Caroline warned, "Fine — but you'll have to get a tattoo." At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged, explaining, "It's how I bind all supernatural contracts."
He considered her, that heated gaze making her shiver. "Done."
She muttered the counterspell, clenching a fist as she felt the barrier dissipate. As she held open the door for Klaus, she warned, "Just so you know, there's going to be consequences if you break our deal."
Settling comfortably in her chair with a smirk, he teased, "I'm hurt by your lack of trust, sweetheart."
Patronizing asshat. "So, what kind of tattoo do you want?" She gestured toward the touchscreen where all of her designs were loaded, adding, "I know you have an affinity for birds, so you may be interested in looking through my avian collection."
He took a casual, oddly seductive swipe at the monitor as he grinned, "So you did like my feather tattoo. I must admit, from the way you initially fled my sight, I thought it had offended your artistic sensibilities." At her unimpressed snort, he considered her portfolio a bit more seriously, pausing at a selection of wolf studies she'd done when she'd taken a road trip up to the Moonstone Wolf Sanctuary. "What about the word 'wolf' in my mother tongue?"
As Klaus started to sketch out the runes, Caroline reached out through the ether and plucked at his aura with the delicacy of one playing a harp. "No. There's something...you want a small bird," she began, feeling her power finally begin to settle as the vision imprinted on her. "I see a pendant, maybe iron, shaped like a small bird." At his stricken expression, she shrugged, adding apologetically, "I'm not sure what it is, but I can tell it's important."
Caroline grew warm underneath his searing gaze, wondering if she was about to witness the Hybrid King's infamous temper. Instead, his voice became tight as he managed to choke out, "A starling. I was gifted a starling talisman as a child. It was...under nefarious circumstances, but ultimately became a symbol of triumph." He hesitated, the uncertainty in his gray gaze disquieting. The Original Hybrid was never uncertain.
"You don't have to explain yourself. Tattoos are deeply personal," she told him gently, placing a reassuring hand to his shoulder. It was a philosophy she'd faithfully followed throughout her career; she understood the powerful connection between a canvas and their chosen ink. The nightingale on her wrist for a father who had too many secrets. The star on her foot for a mother taken too soon.
Caroline realized she'd been staring off into to space, and when she glanced back at Klaus, there was a quiet, rueful expression on his face. An unspoken pain united them, and she wasn't naïve — some day they would lay their pasts bare. But not today. A fresh alliance was too fragile for such turmoil.
"A starling, then," Klaus told her with a small smile. "On my bicep." And then he yanked off his white Henley.
Wow. So much skin. Delicious, muscular. Firm. She had to remind herself that bare skin was nothing special. In her profession, she was used to clients whipping out random body parts, and she'd tattooed her fair share of memorable canvases. But never an Original. One she'd enthusiastically rode like a sloppy-drunk jockey. She quickly distracted herself by starting the artwork, drawing inspiration from her brief vision and infusing the rough, bold strokes of Younger Futhark runes along the edges.
"You're familiar with Younger Futhark runes; that's quite impressive," he commented, openly admiring her work.
Caroline shrugged, secretly pleased with the compliment. "Yeah, usually if artists know runic script, it's Elder Futhark, but I figured you'd prefer the standard alphabet from your childhood." At his surprised expression, she added dryly, "Witches are embarrassingly pretentious when it comes to spellwork."
He leaned forward, a glint in his gray eyes as he seductively said, "Inviable power, keen intellect, impressive artistic abilities and a timeless beauty — I must admit, I'm a bit suspicious of such an accomplished woman. Do you have any flaws, love?"
Preoccupied with applying the stenciled design, she blurted out, "Freshman year, I was stupid and did this selfish money spell that completely backfired. And every so often, my big toes still sprout crazy curly hair and suddenly it's Studio 54 in my flip-flops." Seriously? She really needed to figure out a spell for cramming words back into her mouth.
Klaus threw back his head, laughing until Caroline had no choice but to join him. It was silly, stupid fun with a psychotic immortal asshat and she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like this. No! Bloodthirsty, ruthless Hybrid King, remember? Clearing her throat, she loaded the tattoo machine, locking the needle in place. She was a professional. When she rubbed his skin with ointment to keep the stencil from rubbing off, it was completely professional. Just another bicep. A well-defined bicep that she was thoroughly rubbing as part of her professional tattooing process. She did not lick her lips. And even if she did, it only was because they were dry.
She'd always prided herself on her steady hand, a skillset that benefited her professional life — and her social life considering all those pleasure-filled little growls she managed to pull out of Klaus the other night. Unfortunately, it wasn't serving her well at the moment. Her skin burned from the intensity of his gaze and her fingers trembled like she was still an apprentice. He shouldn't affect her like this.
Muttering under her breath, she refocused her energy and began pulling the smooth, clean lines she'd built her reputation on. The steady whir of the tattoo machine did nothing to cut the tension between them — the air was thick with the words both were too stubborn to say. Caroline could admit to herself she liked that Klaus wasn't afraid of her power; it was rare that others weren't intimidated or afraid. Maybe she didn't have to be lonely anymore.
As she carefully wiped away excess ink and a bit of blood, Klaus commented, "Quite remarkable."
She glanced at him, inwardly cursing at herself for forgetting how close their faces were. She could count his eyelashes as they sensually swept across his skin. Fuck. "What's remarkable?"
"The way you keep immortal skin from healing too fast during the tattoo process — how do you manage it?"
Caroline began work on a delicate feathered edge, feeling her cheeks get hot at his enthusiastic praise. "I curse the ink," she confessed, lips curling into an impish grin at his involuntary muscle twitch. Good. She liked to keep Klaus off-balance. "Relax — it's just a simple curse that wears off once our session is complete." Mostly.
"Clever little witch," he observed, flashing her that dimpled smirk.
He dipped his head, and those soft lips were so close. Fortunately, the weight of her tattoo machine kept her grounded. Jerking away, she sternly told him, "I don't sleep with coworkers."
"I'm hardly tattooing smashed tourists next to you, sweetheart. I surmise we're more like friendly acquaintances. And I'd be pleased to provide another demonstration of our time together if the details are a bit hazy."
Rolling her eyes, she finished the shading, letting out a derisive snort. "Fine then — I don't sleep with friendly acquaintances. Twice." With a decisive snap, she tugged on a new pair of gloves and started cleaning and prepping the finished tattoo.
"Pity." Cocking his curly head, Klaus promised, "But I look forward to our future collaborations."
Grumbling at his flirtatious wink, Caroline topped off the final layer of protective ointment with a bandage, thrusting a sheet of aftercare instructions in his hand. "Tattoo aftercare is just as important for immortal patronizing asshats as it is for humans. DO NOT deviate from that list or you'll have a crap tattoo. And I don't do crap tattoos." She pointed her finger, delivering her final warning, "And don't forget there will be consequences if you go back on our agreement."
Klaus paused at the threshold, an indulgent smile on his handsome face as he nodded. "Of course, love." Glancing down at the bandage Caroline had taped carefully along his bicep, his expression softened, and he told her quietly, "You do beautiful work, and I'm honored to wear it." He flashed away before she could respond.
Well, fuck. Why did that dimpled bastard have to sound so sincere?
The bourbon warmed his tongue as Klaus stood on the balcony, contemplating his City. Seductive and dangerous, it possessed secrets he longed to uncover. Just like Caroline. The feisty little witch had ensnared him the moment she teased his 'green' wolf in the bar. Their evening together had been a bloody revelation, and it chafed to know she had no interest in pursuing their connection once she learned who he was.
The limitations she'd placed on their interactions were vexing. It would be quite challenging to properly woo Caroline if he was limited to one date and a handful of spells. However, he was known to be quite...creative upon occasion. A sly smirk touched his lips as a plan began to form. Taking out his phone, he dialed one of his more useful underlings.
"Maddox, I need you to purchase a building on Iberville Street. I've texted you the address and if the current owner causes a fuss, be a good lad and use whatever hexes are deemed necessary to secure my property."
He didn't bother waiting for a reply, confident his minion's inherent fear would ensure his competence. Klaus suspected that Caroline would be somewhat annoyed when she learned he'd acquired the building in which her tattoo shop was housed, but he was certain her ill temper would be soothed when she saw her rent had been reduced to performing a few extra spells. It was an elegant solution designed to break free of Caroline's overly restrictive terms.
He'd just finished texting his passcodes, authorizing the transfer of funds, when a searing heat ripped through his fresh tattoo. Letting out a grunt of pain, he pulled off his Henley, flashing to the antique mirror in the foyer. He watched in annoyance as his beautifully crafted starling boiled and bubbled, setting his tender skin ablaze.
A rough script began to form in place of his hard-won tattoo, smugly spelling out "Patronizing Asshat". He noted with distaste (and a begrudging respect) that his flesh continued to sting even after the bold letters stubbornly remained in place; it was a constant pricking as though a phantom tattoo needle was haranguing him.
Klaus let out a bark of laughter as he mouthed Caroline's indignant words. Patronizing Asshat. He couldn't wait to learn what other surprise consequences his little witch had in store for him.
