You're woken up when a pile of clothes gets tossed in your face. Blinking, you pull it away.

"Good morning, my dear. Sleep well?"

You squint at him, sunlight too harsh for your tired eyes.

"I was," you grumble, "Was that necessary?"

"I hardly know what you mean."

You roll your eyes and Elijah smiles down at you with warmth in his dark eyes. They glow amber in the sun, tiny flecks of gold and black around the iris.

"It's time to get up, I took the liberty of picking out a dress for you. I made us lunch reservations."

"Were you always this pushy?"

"A gentleman is never pushy," he says and kisses you on the cheek, quick and fleeting. He leaves like a well-winded clock.

He really doesn't ever relax, does he?

You get dressed in what Elijah picked out: jeans and a soft sweater. Cozy and warm. (How sweet.)

"D'you want coffee?" you ask, on your way to start the pot. Elijah nudges you aside by your elbow.

"Not quite yet. I may have some at the restaurant," he says and kisses you quick. You can't stop the stupid smile that crosses your face.

"Are we leaving now?"

"Nearly, I'm afraid," he says unapologetically.

"Do you ever take a break or are you 'on' all the time?"

"I don't know what you mean," he says airily.

"Liar."

He grins, not that reserved smile he reverts to whenever he catches you watching— really grins.

It makes him look younger.

"You are incandescent."

"I'm wearing what you picked out," you say dryly and he's already shaking his head.

"That is not what I mean. You are just… I have been waiting for you for a very long time."

"You haven't known me that long."

"I was waiting before I even knew of you, before any of us knew of you."

You avert your eyes.

"You shouldn't say things like that."

"Why ever not? I would think I am allowed to now," he says, somewhat amused.

"It's not allowed at all, actually."

"You're a ridiculous woman."

"You used to be nicer to me."

"So it seems. I have adjusted."

You shove him lightly. He takes your hand and pulls you into his arms. You fall against his solid frame.

"Where are we going for lunch?"

"A new Indian restaurant opened up: Finn's been wanting to go."

You smile, delighted.

"Finn's coming?"

"As is Freya."

"They seem inseparable now."

"Yes," Elijah says, rolling the word around, "I am glad that they have each other."

You leave in Elijah's car, tucked away in the passenger seat. The restaurant isn't too far: on the outskirts of the city, close enough you don't have to go through downtown.

Finn and Freya are already there, waiting for you at a table. Freya's hair is cut from her long blond tresses to a more modern bob that flounces in fluffy layers. As you walk up to them you get assaulted by the plastic taste of tape. You lick your teeth, scrunching your face, and swallow.

"Freya, are you okay?"

She smiles placidly, a little starched.

"Yes, thank you. I thought this might make it more tolerable for you."

Elijah and Finn don't seem as confused as you are. Figures.

"What do you mean?"

"I found a spell that dampens emotions and configured it so you wouldn't be bothered by them."

"You didn't have to do that," you say, concerned, "Really, Freya. I don't want you not being able to feel or anything."

Her face does a confusing gesture.

"My apologies, I meant it dampens what others can sense. I promise I am just fine."

You relax and flush a little at your misunderstanding.

"Oh, okay. I'm glad then. No offense; most of your emotions were delicious."

"Thank… you?"

You lean forward to hug Finn tight to your chest before sitting down. He smells like woods and spice, as always. He smiles into your neck. Freya's skin zaps where it touches yours. You pull away from the embrace too soon.

The four of you chat amiably over lunch. The plastic taste fades enough where you can eat lunch (a chicken curry served with rice for you) without feeling too uncomfortable.

You wonder if it's uncomfortable for Freya. You wouldn't like being bound like that. Not again.

Getting to see Finn again is delightful. Sometimes you miss when it was just him and you for a month straight and no distractions. then you remember the nightmares and terror you were dealing with and remember yourself.

And now Finn has Freya again. You would never begrudge him his long-lost sister.

"I have been looking into your… concerns, Elijah," Freya says halfway through lunch, "I have nothing on the first front, but I've put up wards around the manor. They should be strong enough to keep out our mother. For now."

Imperceptibly, Elijah relaxes.

"Thank you, sister. I appreciate it more than you know."

Freya's eyes grow cold, though you don't think it's directed at Elijah.

"I understand needing to be projected from our mother."

"Yes," Elijah says wryly, "I suppose you would."

"Be careful with what you ask of our sister. This family asks a lot of favors."

You can tell there's still awkwardness around Finn. The others don't know how to deal with him. 900 years locked away render a lot of guilt left in turn. Guilt Finn does not mind using to his advantage.

Elijah nods solemnly, seemingly unfazed.

"I will do my best."

Finn seems to relax. You distract him with talk of a new series of plant pots you want to make for your houseplants. (Your fiddle leaf fig, shockingly, needs to be repotted. You might just make him do it. Finicky little things.)

"I didn't know you did ceramics," Freya interjects, "What all have you made?"

"Really just some crappy pots. I want to make a dinner plate set next."

"They are not 'crappy'," Elijah says dryly, "She is underselling herself as always."

"You've barely seen my work."

"I've seen enough."

"He's right, dearest," Finn says, "You are quite good, especially for a beginner."

"Well," you say, flushing a little.

"I'd like to see your studio sometime," Freya says, "Do you have your own?"

"Oh, God no. I go to a place in town. Ceramics is messy business."

"We could see about turning the garage into a studio," Elijah muses, "It wouldn't be too difficult."

You can see gears moving behind his eyes.

"Haven't you had enough of interior design?"

"Hardly."

"He used to rearrange our cots to form a more pleasing configuration when we were young," Finn says dryly, "He's always been this way."

Elijah's lips curve upward, pleased.

"I'm afraid I forgot about that."

"I could never forget."

The rest of lunch passes smoothly. You make promises to take Freya to ceramics. You're honestly surprised when she asks. You'd gotten the feeling she was avoiding you.

It's nice to know that she isn't.

You kiss Finn and Freya on the cheek when you leave for the parking lot, boxed leftovers in your hands and Elijah at your side.

"Since our parents are still in the wind, would you be comfortable coming home to the manor for a few days? I would feel better with you there until wards are put up over your home as well."

You blink up at Elijah.

"Of course. It shouldn't take too long, right?"

"I would not think so."

"I know this sounds bad, but sometimes I wish your parents would just make a move instead of hiding and waiting."

"Yes," Elijah says, weary, "I know the feeling."

You go to the manor, Elijah's hand intertwined with your own.

You put your leftovers in the Mikaelsons' completely empty fridge (save for a cardboard box you don't dare open) and follow Elijah to his room.

"Oh," you say, "I've actually been in here before."

"What a worrying statement."

You roll your eyes.

"I may have hid in your closet when I was still being haunted by Freya." You take a moment to think about what you just said. "Your family is complicated."

Elijah smiles.

"Yes, we are."

He leans down to kiss you, nudging you closer to his truly enormous bed. (Best of all, it has a solid-looking headboard.)

"Elijah," you scold when you break away, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to seduce me."

He looks at you with deep brown eyes and hair that's starting to fall out of its starched formation.

"Is it working?"

"Maybe a little."

Elijah grins against your lips, picks you up, and deposits you on the bed.

"Absolutely not," you say, wriggling off of the bed, "I have other plans."

"And those are?"

You drop to your knees and grin.

"You'll see."

Elijah is always beautiful, you are well aware, but he is dazzling when he lets go of that tightly held self control. You end up discovering this with his carpet digging into your knees, hands placed on strong thighs, and Elijah's cock lodged in your mouth. His hand winds in your hair, tense but gentle. Like he's afraid to force you.

You can tell he wants to.

Idly, you wonder what it would take to break through his gentleman act. Wonder what it would take to make Elijah realize it is an act. You hum at the thought, eliciting a soft groan from Elijah. He mutters your name under his breath, sound catching in his throat. Something pulses in you, low and warm. You squirm, thighs trying to rub together, and reach a hand up to stroke Elijah, slicked with saliva, before taking him back in your mouth.

There's something hypnotic about blowing Elijah: the steady rhythm and suction and spit gathering at the corner of your mouth, the way his breath catches.

His hand tightens in your hair.

"My dear, I'm afraid you should stop; you've rather pushed me to my limit."

You pull off and keep stroking up, looking up to see desperate dark eyes glittering down at you.

"Why on Earth would I do that?" you say and twist your wrist. Elijah lets out a little choked sound that you immediately want to make him make again.

You can almost take Elijah to the back of your throat, gag reflex not stopping you from trying to swallow around him. It's been several years since you've given a blowjob, and you've never put this much effort into it.

Your jaw starts to get sore. Elijah grunts, hand becoming an iron band on your neck. You redouble your efforts. Salt leak onto your tongue.

"My apologies, dearest," Elijah rasps, hips starting to jerk in a steady movement trying to go deeper, faster, more, "I'm afraid I cannot seem to help myself."

You don't stop in your incredibly important task to respond: single-mindedly focused on making Elijah come in your mouth. He catches the back of your throat and you struggle not to choke around him. You manage by the skin of your teeth.

Elijah gasps your name and a hot rush of come spills into your mouth.

You swallow without thinking, gently continuing to suck his cock until Elijah pulls away, breathing heavily.

"You," he says, "are a fiend."

He pulls you up by your hair onto your trembling legs and kisses you fiercely. You grin against his lips.

"I am absolutely not a fiend. How could you."

"Liar," Elijah replies, smiling in a way you haven't seen him smile before, "I must thank you for that."

You roll your eyes.

"Really, Elijah, I wanted t—"

Elijah pulls you onto the bed, caging himself with your body, placing your hips hovering over his mouth.

"I said," he says, punctuated by deliberate breaths, "I must thank you."

"Oh."

Your upper torso falls to the bed, unable to support your trembling muscles. He eats you out slowly and steadily until your legs shake and you don't think you can come anymore.

Your legs are still trembling when Elijah flips you onto your stomach and presses a large hand onto the center of your back, forcing you into an almost painful arch, and relentlessly fucking you despite your cries of being too sensitive.

(You never once ask him to stop, not when your spine feels like it's going to split in half, but he reaches so unfathomably deep that it almost brings you to tears. Not even when he bites into your neck, chest pressed up against your back, and hand in a loose grip around your throat.)

"Come for me, dear," he murmurs, "I know you can. Just one more."

You obey with a broken sob.

He doesn't stop, just keeps fucking you until you can't take it anymore and somehow come again before he finally finishes deep inside you, hot liquid pulsing right below your pubic bone.

(You think you could stay in Elijah's arms forever.)

After, still occasionally pulsing from aftershocks, you and Elijah lay together, legs intertwined.

"I think you've broken me."

Elijah wraps himself tighter around you.

"We'll always put you back together."

It's a nice thought.

There's still some blood laying sticky on your throat. Elijah cleans it up with his tongue. You arch into his touch and only come out of your haze when you smell fresh iron. Elijah's wrist dangles tantalizing in front of you.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this," you say right before you latch onto Elijah's wrist and drink his blood in pulsing gulps.

"One day you may have to," he says, somewhat amused.

"Why Elijah, are you saying I have the option to not turn into a vampire?"

"Yes, of course."

You smile at him, a little twisted, blood stain at the corner of your mouth.

"Liar."

His lips twitch but he doesn't respond.

None of the Mikaelsons have broached the subject with you, but you know now there's an implicit understanding that they expect you to turn. When Bonnie ripped away your blindfold, she made it almost impossible to stop thinking about it. All of the Mikaelsons refer to it occasionally. Kol, perhaps, has made it the most obvious.

(Surprising since he doesn't seem to enjoy being a vampire at all, despite his protestations.)

You wonder when it'll come to a boiling point and have to kiss your human life goodbye. It's not even that you mind, really, at least now. There's not much for you here. Kate, of course, old coworkers and friends you haven't seen much lately. Human exhaustion and joy. Not feeling the urge to murder people. You're not sure if you want to turn, but you're equally unsure whether you want to stay the way you are.

You suppose you'll see.

You shower together. You don't do anything— honestly you're a bit afraid of slipping on the wet tile. You're proven right when your right food slides out from under you and sends you falling back. Elijah steadies you.

"Thank God for vampire reflexes."

"They're good for some things."

You grin.

"They're good for a lot of things."

You don't wash your hair, but soap up your arms and neck, in the slick mess between your legs. Elijah watches you, hardly touching at all, just slick glides of skin and temperate pressure.

You bask in the warm comfort.

After, you get dressed in new clothes that are your size but in Elijah's dresser and linger in his room while he fetches tea and coffee. (Superb room service.) You're not generally a nosy person, you like to think. But the vampire blood has gone to your head, filling you with relentless energy and there is no Elijah to satiate you. Yet.

You make do with exploring his room.

For some reason it's amusing to you that Elijah's dresser contains the standard socks and under garments that most people have. You've never thought of Elijah as someone who has to get dressed at all: his suits are simply a part of him. You don't recognize the designers in most of his suits: those secret luxury brands that only the uber-rich know about. Well, uber-rich and immortals. You close his sock drawer and something clunks.

Hm.

You're not nosy, you tell yourself. Just ignore it.

(You don't ignore it.)

Elijah comes back in the door, teacup in hand, to see you holding an ornate silver dagger.

"Elijah," you say, as calmly as you are able— not really calm at all— "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

His silence lasts too long.

"Who."

"My dear, I can explain."

"Who."

"The only reason you are alive is because my brother has taken interest in you. Niklaus has never hesitated to rip our paramours away from us. If this is something you want to pursue, Niklaus had to be first; he needs to feel wanted. He had to know that you unequivocally care for him. He can only share up to a certain extent. There was no other option, I couldn't tell you or it would stop you from feeling able to express your feelings to Niklaus; you're too wary of manipulating him. None of this would have been necessary if I hadn't sensed you getting dangerously close to Kol—"

"Kol?" you choke, "You were going to dagger Kol?"

He steps closer to you.

"Dearest, please understand, I—"

"No! I won't understand! Elijah how could you even think about doing something like that to your own family?"

His eyes pierce you as he stares intently into yours, grasping you by your shoulders.

"Listen to me," he commands and suddenly you can't do anything but listen even as tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. Expressions you can't identify war over his face.

Eventually, he sighs, lets go of you, and steps away.

"I'm sorry," he says, "Please tell Kol it was a last resort. I never wanted to hurt him."

"Oh, fuck you, Elijah."

He stands there looking at you, morose and guilty, as you storm out of his room.

Hope you guys liked the chapter! I've been planning the Kol-daggering bit for like 15 chapters lol.