Rebekah stays for nearly a week straight. You sleep for a collective fifteen hours. You start your period on the second day which, yay for not being pregnant! But not-yay for having vampire sex marathons.
(There has been a several year gap in between the Mikaelsons and the last time you had sex. You shouldn't be this much of a monster yet. Why are you this desperate?)
You stare yourself down in the bathroom mirror. Your reflection doesn't seem to have any answers.
"Are you bleeding?" Rebekah asks, brow furrowed, when you exit the bathroom.
Your foot catches on thin air.
"Please tell me you can't tell every time I'm on my period."
Rebekah's silence is answer enough.
"Oh my God. I'm going to start dousing myself in perfume every time I see you people."
"It's normal for us, you don't have to be embarrassed."
"Not helpful!"
Rebekah just laughs and tugs you into bed. You roll around until you're sitting on the edge and Rebekah sits contentedly in your lap. You've been spending most of your time in bed the past few days. Well, and the shower. And the couch. And, on one memorable occasion, propped up on the kitchen counter at the perfect height for Rebekah to fuck you while making tea.
"What part of 'on my period' did you not understand?"
Rebekah arches an eyebrow.
"Darling, I'm a vampire. Do the math."
You don't quite know what expression flickers over your face, but it makes Rebekah break into an amused grin.
"That can't— you can't…" You sputter.
"Can't what?" She asks innocently as she parts your legs and kneels in between them, "Do this?"
The first hard suck on your clit has your legs trying to clamp around her head— too sensitive from the past two days. Rebekah holds you open.
"Rebekah Rebekah Rebekah— too much."
Obediently— kindly— Rebekah lightens her touch until it's just a slick drive on your clit. Feather light. Your hands relax their grip on the sheets as you prop yourself up. Every so often, Rebekah glances up at you with her piercing blue eyes. You can't make yourself look away. She releases one of your thighs to gently trace your clit and moves her mouth lower, lower, lower to the source of the blood gushing out of your body. Black veins pulse around her now-dark eyes. She looks like the monster that she is— and she's yours forever.
You spasm, coming violently around her.
Rebekah holds you, makes you tea, and feeds you after.
You repeat the cycle for the rest of the week. You have the shortest period of all time, thanks entirely to Rebekah. As incandescent as everything is, you realize you should probably get your shit together when you find yourself sat in front of a roaring fire in your fireplace and don't remember coming into the living room.
"At what point do we leave the house?" You ask mildly, accepting the tea as she hands it to you, "Or do we just hole up in here forever?"
Rebekah shrugs gracefully before falling beside you.
"I got three separate texts today asking about you, so I suspect tonight."
The blood drains out of your face.
"Rebekah, they cannot see us like this."
"Like what?" She asks innocently.
There are marks all down your neck: a tapestry of everything that the two of you have gotten up to. She cannot be ser— oh. You squint at her, accusing.
"You want them to know you got to me before they did, don't you?"
Rebekah grins.
"Guilty as charged, darling."
"You rotten little—"
"Easy."
"You're the worst."
"I know, darling. I know."
You let out a huff. It is going to be incredibly, horrifically, blindingly awkward with Klaus and Rebekah in the same room. Maybe you shouldn't have dinner. There's a non-zero chance they'll end up setting the place on fire. Maybe a restaurant? They wouldn't kill each other in public. Hopefully.
Rebekah helps clean up the evidence of the two of you fucking against every single conceivable piece of furniture. (You're not quite sure how lube stains ended up the arm chair slipcover).
Rebekah types absent-mindedly on her phone as you straighten the bed. You're not sure what you want to cook tonight. Feeding five/six/seven— however many people show up— requires a lot of planning. It's March now, but it's still cold outside. Maybe a bisque, or something with potatoes. Something warm. Rebekah laughs under her breath, jolting you out of your thoughts.
"Who are you texting?"
"My loathsome and irritating brothers."
"Do… Do you have a group chat with all of your siblings?"
Rebekah pauses. "… Most of them, why?"
"That… has to be the punchline to something."
Rebekah stays unamused.
Joke's on you though, because she manages to shut you up less than ten minutes later by riding your face into three consecutive orgasms.
(Rebekah doesn't seem to ever lose).
That should be worrying.
Your house is straightened and your neck is slathered with color-correcting concealer by the time there's a knock on your door.
"I'll get it."
Rebekah opens the door for you while you tend to the simmering pot on the stove.
"Hello!" You greet as they file into the kitchen. Your eyes flicker over Elijah, cheeks heating as you remember your last interaction, "No Klaus or Freya?"
"Klaus texted to tell us he's taking care of some business in Romania, but he sends his regards."
Well, that knot untied itself smoothly.
There still remain the other knots of the two kisses you shared with Elijah and Kol, the unnamed tension between you and Finn, and— of course— your newly consummated sexual relationship with Rebekah.
You really should have slept more this week.
Finn places a bottle of white wine on your counter and settles next to Elijah.
"I thought it was best Freya didn't come since your…" Finn says, "Ah, connection."
Rebekah's forehead wrinkles.
"Freya did not mention anything about that to me."
"Nor me." Kol swoops past his siblings to kiss you on the cheek. You flush. "What's all this about?"
Finn's eyes slide over to you. You blink at the strange expression painted over his face.
"I assumed you all knew, considering you apparently have a Mikaelson group chat. Something happened with the asylum and dream stuff and now I can feel Freya's emotions when we're in the same room."
There's a brief pause while the Mikaelsons gather their thoughts.
"That," Elijah says placidly, "Is quite interesting."
"It could be a binding spell. I would have to check with my witches."
"Don't you mean your bitches?"
"Just because you don't get along with women, Beka, doesn't mean you're allowed to be rude to my lovely witch friends."
"I got along quite well with a woman for the past few days, thank you very much."
You groan, pressing your head into your hands. "I am going to kill myself."
Kol snorts and wraps his arms around you, making you lean backwards against his chest. "While we're on the topic of suicide," he says, resting his head on your shoulder, "Has anyone else having reoccurring dreams about our father trying to kill us?"
"This is too much right before dinner," you mutter as all the Mikaelsons go still.
"Why," Elijah stretches out, "Would you say such a thing?"
"That's 'Lijah for 'yes'."
"I couldn't say one way or another, Rebekah dear."
"I've been having similar dreams," Finn says, "Do you think it's…"
Rebekah snorts.
"Of course it is. Our nosy mother couldn't keep her nose out of our affairs if it got bitten off."
"Now there's an idea."
"Must all of your ideas be so bloodthirsty, Kol."
"I'd say it's rather deserved— speaking of, you're not feeling suicidal or anything, are you Finn?"
"I'm feeling more murderous, actually. Specifically fratricidal."
"Play nice! And not that I'm not ecstatic to see you all again, but can we save the murder talk for later?"
"… I'll set the table."
You smile. "Thanks Finn."
Elijah, not to be outdone by his older brother, helps. You shrug out of Kol's embrace and take your pot off of the stove.
"Help me dish?"
"Of course," Kol says.
"I've missed you. What mischief have you gotten up to while I was gone?"
"Who says I've gotten up to anything?"
"General life experience and personal history."
Kol cracks a grin. "I may have set some traps for dearest Nik. Last time I checked it didn't look like he sprang anything."
"Has he not been home?"
Kol shrugs carelessly. "I am not my brother's keeper."
"Okay, Cain."
Kol sighs. "Oh, how I wish," he says mournfully.
You snort and start taking bowls to the table. Looks like Finn's not the only one dreaming of fratricide.
"I made Italian Wedding Soup and sourdough bread. Rebekah, thank you for helping."
She brandishes a spoon at you.
"Don't ask me to again. You know I don't cook."
She says it like she didn't make you pancakes and perfectly burnt bacon the other morning.
"Thank you for making dinner for all of us, you truly didn't have to."
"Come off it, Elijah," Finn remarks, "It's a given at this point."
"Still," he says delicately, "It's impolite to take things for granted."
You roll your eyes, politely. There's the expected (but not unappreciated) round of compliments on your cooking; you accept with as much grace as you can manage.
"So how was New York?" Finn asks.
"More fun than I expected, save for your brother almost making me an accomplice to grand larceny."
"Less than ideal."
"That's one way of putting it. While we have everyone together, I would like to put out a blanket statement: please don't involve me in your, supernatural or otherwise, criminal activity."
Kol clinks your glass with his.
"To not committing crimes!" He says grinning, "Or at least to not getting caught."
"Not what I meant!"
You're halfway through your soup when Elijah catches your gaze. Your brow furrows: what? He drags his eyes, amused, to your neck. Some of your foundation must have rubbed off you realize with heated cheeks. You do your best to casually sweep your hair to hide it. Elijah's eyes twinkle and ceremoniously drags Finn into a conversation about gardening. Kol listens with an air of mutinous boredom.
"I can only hear so much about fertilizer, Finn," he groans.
"You got a 900 year break from hearing me speak, you don't get another one."
"When will you stop using that to guilt trip us?"
"In another 900 years."
"For the love of—"
"Kol," you warn, "Play nice."
He looks at you, betrayed. You shrug.
"So back to how our lovely mother is trying to kill us, are we going to do anything about that?" Rebekah asks placidly.
"There's nothing we can do except wait for her first move."
Rebekah snorts. "You're so full of shit, 'Lijah. Your plans have plans. I refuse to believe you haven't thought up some possibilities."
Elijah looks up, brows raised ever so slightly.
"Even if you were right," he says, leaning back in his chair, "And I did have something in the works, would I not tell you?"
"Not if you thought we shouldn't know."
"If that were the case, I'm sure there's a good reason."
"You're impossible."
"No fighting in my house!"
Elijah and Rebekah settle back down in their seats, appropriately chastened. Well, Elijah never moved out of his purposefully relaxed position.
He really is tightly wound.
"Elijah's right," Finn says, "If Father is truly coming back then there's nothing we can do. We need a white oak stake."
A what?
"Wait," you say, "I've heard that before."
Four pairs of eyes turn to stare at you.
"Where," Finn says delicately, "Did you hear that?"
"Well, first, you can all stop staring at me like I'm an undercover spy. Second, I don't actually remember, but I think it was one of the Salvatores."
"She's right," Elijah realizes, "It was when encountered Damon, the first time we met. He knew about the white oak stake. If he doesn't have it, he may know where."
"Oh great," Kol says, "Our enemies who almost killed me have a deadly weapon. Fantastic."
"They tried to kill you because you tried to rip Jeremey's arms off. I have a somewhat decent relationship with them. I may be able to talk to them."
Kol snorts, but doesn't respond.
You're getting the feeling you always do when your brain tries to process more than it's capable.
(Of course your impromptu dinner party turns into a war planning coalition).
"If we're making a plan for killing your parents, Klaus should be here."
"Klaus fled the country as soon as he couldn't hoard your attention for himself," Kol drawls, "Speaking of, why did you come back from your trip so early?"
You fumble with your spoon, metal scraping ceramic.
"I, uh, missed you all. The grand larceny really put a damper on things."
Not a single person (or vampire) at the table believes you, but they let you lie to them anyway.
"Regardless," Elijah says, saving you, "Niklaus is across the ocean. Finn, can you consult with Freya?"
He nods.
"I, of all people," Kol starts, "Loathe that I'm the one who to bring this up: but should we not get in contact with Marcel?"
You start at the reminder of the too-beautiful vampire who in essence told you to get the hell out of dodge. The same one whom you proceeded to ignore.
"Reasoning?" Elijah asks, head tilted.
"Unfortunately, he has more connections in New Orleans than I do in this century. We could use the witches."
"Marcel is…" Rebekah falters. "Marcel could be dangerous. I say we save him as a last resort."
"Agreed," Elijah says.
"And the Salvatores aren't?" Kol protests.
"I never said that. The Salvatores are a known quantity. Marcel has grown… different in our absence."
"But—"
"I will hear no more of it. If you want to help, you can work with Freya to put additional wards up over the manor. Don't even think about retreating to your apartment: I don't want you in danger."
Kol mutters something that everyone except for you can hear, even if Elijah pretends not to.
"There is no need to panic. Not yet," Elijah says, steepling his fingers together, "If you must take action, have it be defensive and unobtrusive. The worst thing we could do is tip off Mikael."
The siblings grumble, but don't argue.
The rest of dinner passes smoothly, all things relative. You choke down the rest of your meal, guts twisted with nerves. You suppose it was too much to ask for a period unfraught by the dangers that plague the Mikaelsons' lives.
Ah, well.
The Mikaelsons linger for a bit after dinner, unwilling to leave quite yet when the house is warm and bright and the outside holds promises of outside dangers to be faced in the morning. Kol sweeps up to you just after midnight and presses a kiss on your temple.
"I'll look into your mental link with Freya. Have you been having any nightmares?"
You shake your head.
"No," you say honestly, "There's nothing new. The nightmares stopped when Freya woke up. The only thing that's changed is the 'tasting-everything-she-feels' thing."
Kol hums. "Taste?"
"Yeah. You know, sadness tastes like dark chocolate. Whenever she's upset it tastes bitter."
"Hm. Perhaps she somehow affected your nervous system…" Kol gets the gleam in his eye he gets whenever he tries to solve a particularly complicated puzzle. "Regardless, you will be alright for now. This doesn't seem dangerous or fatal."
"Glad to hear it," you say dryly.
He laughs, kisses you again, and leaves. Finn follows with him, presumably to talk about their newest addition to the family, and it's just you, Rebekah, and Elijah. You're finishing up dishes when you realize there's a suspicious lack of sound. You silently creep out of the kitchen to poke your head around the corner. Rebekah hisses something vitriolic at her brother, Elijah standing dispassionately to the side.
"Are you guys fighting in my home? Again?"
Rebekah's furious expression melts into neutrality.
"Not quite. Sorry, my love."
You creep further into the doorway.
"Are you two okay?"
"Fine," she snaps and you flinch even though you know she's not mad at you. Her eyes scrunch tightly closed as she sighs. "I'm sorry, I suppose I'm just tired."
"Go home," Elijah says, "I'll look after our baker."
"I'm not leaving, if you're—"
"I will not."
Rebekah's eyes flash. She says something sharp in a language you can't identify. Elijah doesn't respond, only turning to look at you once she's gone.
"I apologize for my sister and I. We had a mild disagreement."
"Didn't look mild."
"Few things do with my siblings," Elijah agrees.
"Why did you send her away?"
Elijah lingers in a slight pause.
"For one," he says, stepping closer to you, "I neglected to mention at dinner it would be prudent that one of us stays with you in case our parents deem you worthy of their… attention. You should not be alone. Second, Rebekah spent nearly the entire week with you. I must admit to being envious."
(You recall Klaus's rueful warning about Elijah; how given the chance he would whisk you away like the Erlking. You never really saw Elijah as manipulative. Maybe it was his earnest eyes, the way his hair falls when he tilts his head to look at you. His absolute refusal to be anything but a gentleman. You wonder if he's even aware of it).
Instead of having what reaction would be appropriate, you just sigh.
"You know you can ask for the things you want, Elijah."
He dips his head, not breaking eye contact.
"I suppose that would be better manners."
"Are you going to explain what your argument with Rebekah is about."
"I probably should," he says and stops there.
You sigh again.
"Elijah…" you start. You're not sure where you want to end, so you don't. "I'll make tea."
Elijah stays the night in your guest room.