Archive of Our Own ^beta

you know better babe 

than to hold me like that. 

***

New Orleans in the summer was hot. 

Duh. 

It wasn’t as if Caroline didn’t know that— she was a Southern belle, after all, and grew up more in each cicada-chirruping July than the rest of the months of her childhood combined. She knew starched sundresses soaked in sweat, sidewalks that scalded feet straight through the soles of flipflops, entire days spent pruning in swimming holes with the other wild creatures. 

New Orleans was something else. 

The heat was like being drunk— the humidity so thick that each breath felt like a sip of swampy iced tea gone watery from melted ice cubes, everything slippery like condensation on glass. Her hair was in a permanent state of soft frizz, a halo of golden curls that as a teenager she’d lacquered into submission with copious amounts of hairspray and flat-ironing. That wouldn’t work here— Louisiana laughed in the face of her giant silver bottle of Kenra UltraFreeze 30. 

Caroline didn’t like it— the way everything felt slower, the way she wanted to take an infinite number of naps here on any comfortable surface, be it porch swing or divan or the shade of a weeping willow. She felt forcibly calmer, like the few times she’d tried downers in high school. Like her mind was racing but her body could not, would not, keep up. 

She didn’t like New Orleans, but somehow she kept getting in her car and driving there, anyway, with only the thinnest pretenses. 

Bonnie needed a spell from some Voodoo witches? Caroline could go. 

Jeremy was kidnapped by rogue werewolves as revenge for sleeping with someone he probably shouldn’t have? Caroline was on it. 

Jo had ferocious pregnancy cravings for beignets and chicory coffee? Caroline had a thermos and Tupperware already in her trunk. 

And honestly, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know there was something horribly wrong with her. Caroline was aware. She’d considered a traumatic childhood brain injury, a curse, daddy issues… 

And yet, she still kept going down to Louisiana at the drop of a hat. 

***

As if he had LoJack on her car, Klaus inevitably was waiting whenever and wherever she entered his city limits with a grin, draped casually against a wall, sprawled in a chair, (once) reclined on the hood of a vintage car that probably cost more than a castle. 

At first, she’d kept up her facade of annoyance at his very existence, tossing her (fuzzy) hair and wrinkling her nose and hissing. 

“Hello, love,” he would say every time, and she’d snark back at him. She’d complete her errands. She’d avoid him and his band of goons. She’d drive the fourteen hours back to Mystic Falls. Inevitably, she’d end up back on the road, headed to New Orleans. Again. 

Then she’d gotten her ass thoroughly kicked by some semi-ancient vampire, and ended up getting saved by an even more ancient vampire. 

Not Klaus, no— worse. 

Rebekah. 

The worst of the Original family. Arguably the bitchiest— behind Klaus. And Kol. Sometimes Elijah. 

“When are you going to give up the ghost, luvvie?” Rebekah had asked, grinning around a mouthful of blood and gore, a princess straight from Hell. With obnoxiously silky hair that seemed to ignore all laws of physics. On the ground, groaning, Caroline felt horribly frizzy and frumpy in comparison. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Caroline had bit back, and rolled onto her stomach so she could pop back up onto her feet. She’d broken a heel. These were new shoes. 

Caroline cursed the day she met Klaus Mikaelson. 

“Let’s not play dumb, Caroline Forbes,” Rebekah sighed, and blurred over to her side so she could support Caroline as she started to wobble off in the vague direction of where she’d parked her car. “It’s not a good look on you.” 

Caroline sighed in return, and sagged against Rebekah’s steely grip. 

“Nothing’s a good look on me in this stupid city.” She returned, and meant it to her bones. 

“Just let my brother take you out for dinner.” Rebekah coaxed, though Caroline knew she was loathe to do so. “If he annoys you too much, spike his drink with Vervain. We’ll chain him up and toss him into the nearest bayou. Let the alligators sort him out.” 

Despite herself, Caroline cackled. “Okay, Anne Rice. I’ll let him take me to dinner. Just this once.” 

Just this once turned into every time I’m in New Orleans. 

Dinner turned into art galleries, touristy ghost walks, jazz clubs, butterfly gardens. 

And sex. 

Really, just an entirely unreasonable amount of sex. 

***

“Klaus,” Caroline moaned, twining her legs tighter around his waist, feeling the serpentine rocks of his pelvis and the lean muscle laid over his ribs. “I’ve got to leave.” Despite this, Caroline found herself dragging Klaus by his hair down to her left breast, groaning when he fastened those lush red lips around her nipple. 

Klaus hummed low in his throat, lowering his body until they were pressed even closer together, somehow. It was— sweltering. Caroline was sticky with sweat, hers and Klaus’. They slip-slid on his silken sheets with each thrust until she had to brace one hand above her head to keep from knocking herself out on the headboard. 

Somehow, he still felt impossibly big inside of her after all this time. She tilted her hips greedily, trying to feel even fuller. Every thrust made something bright like new pennies flash behind her eyes. 

“Kiss me, love.” Klaus demanded, turning his head up, abandoning her breasts but slipping a hand between them so he could rub furiously over her clit. 

“Jesus Christ—“ Caroline swore, her eyes rolling back, both hands flying to Klaus’ back so she could scratch her nails down the bunching muscles there. 

Klaus laughed breathlessly, shuddering. 

“Just Klaus,” he replied, hardly more than a whisper. His eyes were flashing yellow and black, his teeth elongating in his open, panting mouth. 

“I cannot stand you.” Caroline uttered, and came. 

“Liar.” Klaus named her, and dove beneath the sheets. 

Caroline cast one despairing look at the brass alarm clock by the ridiculously oversized bed and then flung her arm over her eyes as Klaus’ mouth found its target. 

She hated him. 

Mostly. 

***

“One hour,” Klaus wheedled, lounging indecently with his whole everything out for anyone to see, those silk sheets tangled around his ankles. He was soft against his toned thigh, and Caroline tried to tamp down the fondness she felt just looking at him. 

“That’s what you said…” Caroline checked her wristwatch pointedly as she put it on. “Eight hours ago.” She looked around, furrowing her eyebrows. “Where is my underwear?” 

Klaus stretched out like a jungle cat, indolent to the point of obscenity. “You’ll adore this little jazz club I heard about from Marcel. It reminds me of the old days. You’d have been a scrumptious flapper, love.” 

“And yet.” Caroline snarked back absently, going up on tiptoe to free her underpants from where they’d found a home on the curtain rod above Klaus’ bay windows. 

Suddenly his arms were around her. Caroline inhaled through her nose, trying to seem unaffected. Her body betrayed her, pressing back into his embrace. Against her back, she could feel him stirring with arousal. 

Klaus nuzzled her throat. “One hour.” He breathed, pressing tender little kisses like sparks against her nape. She let her head fall back, opening up her throat for his mouth. She’d let him bite her, if he asked. It was horrifying, how much she trusted him. 

“One hour.” She moaned in agreement, and spun around so she could push him forcefully into a nearby armchair. “Starting in… half an hour.” 

Klaus grinned, the expression sharklike. 

Caroline straddled his thighs, half-dressed, and sank herself down on his cock. 

In for a penny. 

***

Klaus was so annoying, and yet it was so hard to stay annoyed with him. He’d produced a garment bag with a flourish after she’d ridden him until they were both blind, gasping, and half-weeping with insensate pleasure.

She was not the same girl she’d been in high school, storming the Mikaelson estate to demand Klaus find her a prom dress, but there was still a whole host of girlish parts inside Caroline’s most secret self. She still loved watching Eloise at Christmastime every December, had kept all her childhood stuffed animals safe in her closet, and was thrilled at getting presents. 

This present was no exception. Like everything Klaus had ever given her, she could’ve picked it out herself. A dress made of the lightest silk, the thinnest lace, something made to move with the body, highlighting every curve on this immortal body that would never age another day. 

“May I?” Klaus asked as she drew the straps up her shoulders, stepping close so he could finger the open edge of the dress’ back. Caroline bit back a smile and instead nodded. 

With a nimble touch, Klaus buttoned her up, slipping each silk covered bauble into its home until the dress was properly closed, fitting as it ought to. 

The drive to the jazz club was short, and Caroline relished in the air conditioning the car provided. Klaus evidently didn’t believe it necessary to equip his compound with an HVAC system, and after countless rounds of truly athletic sex, Caroline thought that the waves of cool air on her skin was nearly as satisfying as an orgasm. 

Klaus kissed her temple, wrapped an arm over her shoulders, and stroked his thumb over her chill-peaked nipple. Caroline pretended not to notice, staring at the divider that separated them from the driver. 

“There is something wrong with you.” She informed her own reflection, and then undid his belt with one hand so she could wrap her fingers around his erection. 

***

Because this was her life now, and had been since the day Stefan Salvatore came back to Mystic Falls for who knew what [read: everyone’s favorite tragic doe-eyed orphan, Elena Gilbert], Caroline found herself on the dance floor of a hole-in-the-wall jazz club facing off against a troop of cloaked warlocks while Klaus did battle with their leader, an elderly witch with gray hair even more frizzy from the humidity than Caroline’s. 

They were chanting in Latin— Caroline had taken Spanish as her high school elective, so instead of trying to parcel out the words she settled on kicking warlock ass. It was not what she’d planned for the evening. Her new dress was ripped up the side from a roundhouse kick she’d delivered to one’s head, snapping his neck, and she was covered in brick dust from the initial magical explosion that had blown out one of the establishment’s walls. 

The final warlock fell to a wicked maneuver Caroline had scalped from drunkenly watching UFC Fight Nights with Tyler and Matt at the Mystic Grill every Saturday. 

“Caroline!” Klaus bellowed, urgency high in his shout. 

He and the head witch were fighting for— something. Something that looked like a wand, like something out of Harry Potter and the Hybrid Vampire Disaster. Behind them, a whirling portal had opened, all roaring sounds and flashing light. 

“Praeteritum fit praesens, Niklaus Mikaelson.” The witch cackled. “Praeteritum fit praesens!” 

Caroline blurred over. 

Caroline ripped the witch’s head off. 

The portal disappeared. 

“Well,” she said, turning back to Klaus, the severed head dangling from her fist by its hair. Caroline really needed to consult a cosmetologist about hair products for protection against high humidity. “Now that that’s over—“ 

Caroline paused, blinking. 

Two Klaus Mikaelsons stared back at her. One, her Klaus (but not like that, okay, she and Klaus weren’t together, they were just having a lot of sex and seeing each other several times a month and going out to do date-like activities, okay) with his nice suit all rumpled from the fight and exposing a lot of chest, and… another Klaus. 

A human Klaus, with an abundance of flowing flaxen locks and a high flush to his cheeks, dressed like he was going to star in some renaissance faire porn. There was a sword on his belt. 

“Haila Sjöfn.” The human Klaus said dumbly, staring at her. 

“No.” Caroline said, and meant it. 

***

“This is amazing.” Marcel said, watching the human Klaus and Hybrid Klaus stare mistrustfully at each other from across the courtyard. 

“Marcel, that’s not helpful.” Elijah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, though it was not possible for him to physically get a headache that was not brought on by witches popping blood vessels in his brain for fun and profit. Caroline could sympathize. 

“This is fascinating.” Freya said, rifling through a grimoire. Three more lay open on the table in front of her. With each page she read, the eldest Mikaelson seemed to get more and more excited. “It’s as if the witch has brought forth a past version of Klaus, but that shouldn’t be possible, for it would cause a collapse of the time-space continuum— unless she used Bernoulli’s principle to—“ dissolving into scholarly muttering, Freya opened up another leather-bound tome. 

“I didn’t know Klaus was a natural blonde.” Josh, the baby vampire that Caroline privately thought was hilarious, mused over the rim of his luridly red cocktail that may have just contained blood. 

“I did.” Said Hayley drily, drinking bourbon from a cut-crystal glass. Caroline resisted the urge to bare her teeth at the werewolf. Elijah always did like the mean ones. 

“Alright then!” Klaus said, with his voice full of false cheer- it was his annoyed voice, Caroline knew, and tight as a bowstring, like his posture. Klaus was full of dichotomies; at his seemingly-jolliest, he was also the most dangerous. “If the peanut gallery has no useful suggestions, then there is one option that is always available—” he took a step towards his copy, graceful as a lion about to spring.

A lion... or a wolf. 

Caroline was moving before she could even think it through, blurring through space until she stood firmly in front of his copy, all confused and golden-haired, shoulders squared. 

“Sjöfn,” the copy whispered behind her in awe. 

“No.” Caroline said, firmly. 

“Caroline—“ Klaus seethed, and stepped forward as if to menace her. 

She barked a laugh at him, curling her hands into fists, showing him her black-veined eyes, her fangs. “No, Klaus.” 

Who knew what the hell would happen if Klaus killed his human self? The whole world could collapse. His sire line could perish. 

Klaus could perish. 

Panic smothered her, tightening her throat. It was an uncomfortably human feeling. 

“Move.” Klaus said, his own teeth dropping, his eyes glowing yellow-black. Just a few hours ago she’d relished in that, the loss of his control as he panted above her like a drowning man. “Or I will move you.” 

“Over my dead body, Klaus.” Caroline told him. 

Klaus’ whole body twitched, eyes darting from her to his doppelgänger and back again. His expression curdled, the beauty of his face overtaken by blackened fury. 

Caroline resisted the urge to curve her hands around his cheeks, to draw him in and smooth out the darkness with her lips. 

“Fine then.” Klaus bit out. “You’ve made your choice. The weakling is your problem. Keep him. Do what you want. But don’t darken my doorstep again.” 

Whirling, Klaus strode off, snarling at Elijah’s attempts to reason with him. 

Caroline gave into her own feelings and did her own dramatic whirl, snatching the human Klaus’ hand up and dragging him along with her, out onto the muggy streets. 

She needed to find somewhere for them to stay. 

Preferably somewhere with air conditioning. 

***

“Here,” Caroline said, setting the paper plate down in front of the human. In front of Niklaus, as she’d decided to distinguish him from his immortal counterpart. The long-haired viking sitting at the kitchen table. The long-haired viking she’d caught going through her suitcase this morning with a look of dumbfounded consternation on his too-handsome face as he held up a lacy pair of Brazilian-cut panties. 

She’d woken up wishing that last night was all some kind of terrible dream. 

This morning, in her shitty motel room with the wallpaper peeling off the walls and showing little patches of mold, she’d been confronted with the reality that it really, really wasn’t. 

Niklaus tucked into his plate of microwave waffles like a man starved, never taking his eyes off her as she moved around their shared temporary living space, nervously tidying up. It was a habit she’d never quite managed to give up from her days of being a neurotic human. 

(Arguably, she was even more neurotic as a vampire; Caroline had noticed that people’s traits became more pronounced with the change. For example, while she’d been drawn to inappropriate men as a human, she was now drawn to Klaus Mikaelson, scourge of the western world, and all iterations therein.) 

Finally, when he finished eating, Niklaus caught her by the wrist, stopping her in mid-step. She looked at him in surprise, furrowing her brows. 

“Ic þancie þē.” He said, nodding to the empty plate, and stroked his thumb over the tender skin of her inner wrist. With wonder in his voice, he looked down at where they were touching. “Ćeald.” 

That, she understood. Caroline snatched her hand back and folded her arms across her chest. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” Caroline said, uselessly, and gestured for him to sit down. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

***

Niklaus was staring in horror and fascination at the television as two women fought over a stringy toothless man on Jerry Springer’s stage, perched on the edge of his grimy motel bed so he could be as close as possible to the screen. It was definitely a step up from his original response, which had been to draw his sword and try to swing it at the thing. 

He jumped a foot in the air when there was a pounding knock on the door, though Caroline had heard their visitor from a hundred yards away and smelt her distinctive perfume as soon as she hit the hallway. 

She lightly smacked Niklaus’ hands away from where he was trying to get his sword out from its hiding place beneath her bed and pulled the door open. Rebekah strode in, a force to be reckoned with in her high-heeled boots. “You realize there’s some ridiculous rumor going around the Quarter that—“

Her gaze fell upon the human Niklaus, in his roughly-woven wool tunic and leather pants. 

“Oh,” Rebekah said, stopping short. “It’s true.” 

“Rebekah,” Niklaus said, in that harsh accent that now sounded stricken around the consonants, his eyes wide. He stood, stepping forward, and his smile broke out like the dawn coming over the skyline of the Blue Ridge mountains, like every time Caroline had woken up early to watch the sunrise out the window of her childhood bedroom. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. “Sweostor.” 

Niklaus reached out a hand, made as if to touch Rebekah’s hair, her face. 

“I— I have to go.” Rebekah said suddenly, and drew back before his touch could land. She pressed her hand over her face. Her voice was thick. “Take care of him.” 

Caroline watched her go, leaving Niklaus with his hand still outstretched, his brow crumpled. He said something. She couldn’t understand it, but knew the tone. It was mournful, the way Klaus never was. 

“Ābid.”

She came across the room in a blur and folded him into her arms, holding him close. He was so much taller than her that to an outsider she was sure they looked ridiculous.  

Caroline couldn’t bring herself to care about appearance, burying her face into his long hair. He was so warm, his skin fever-hot like Tyler’s had always been. She figured it was the wolf in him, untriggered. He was an innocent, with no blood on those hands she knew so well on another body but were now soft, callused, with healing cuts and scrapes on the knuckles.

On the television, humans were slinging folding chairs at each other to a lyrical chant of Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! 

***

“I told you, Bonnie.” Caroline hissed, crouched with her cell phone in the dingy bathroom, avoiding Niklaus, who was shirtless and doing all sorts of… maneuvers with his sword. “Don’t mess with me right now!” 

On the line, Bonnie smothered another giggle. In the background, Caroline could hear Tyler and Matt. It was Saturday, and she was missing Fight Night. 

“I’m serious, Care! I talked to a couple sources, and looked at a couple old journals. If you want to fix this, you have to… y‘know.” 

Caroline looked skyward. There were all sorts of dead bugs in the flickering light fixture. 

Are you there, God? It’s me, Caroline Forbes. 

“Sleep with them. Both. At the same time. In the same place. Have a threeway. A ménage a trois. A triple shag. Peter, Paul, and Mary. A cluster—“ 

“Yes, Caroline!” Bonnie exclaimed, some of the humor leeching from her voice in favor of annoyance. “A threesome!” 

In the background, Matt and Tyler fell silent. 

Caroline hung up the phone with a vicious stab of her thumb. 

“What did I ever do to deserve this?” She wondered aloud. “Besides, like, the murderous rampages.” 

Niklaus knocked on the door, a new skill he’d learned with a lot of shouting and gesturing on Caroline’s part. “Sjöfn?” 

“No.” Caroline replied, resolutely, but got up anyway so he could use the bathroom. 

She could have her existential crisis in the living/sleeping area. 

***

“Well, well, well.” Klaus drawled, standing dramatically at the top of his spiral staircase, looking down at Caroline and Niklaus. “What have we here? A traitor and a níðing.” 

Niklaus tried to step forward in anger at the word, which must have been some ridiculous insult. Caroline grabbed him and hauled him back again, rolling her eyes.

“Bonnie figured out how to reverse the spell.” She said, trying to maintain her calm. “Since you decided you couldn’t be bothered.” 

Klaus grimaced. “Blame Keelin for that.” He stated, waving his hand as if to encompass all the distractions that his sister’s wife could offer during the former’s quest for knowledge. “I assume you need something from me, for the spell.” 

He was still nearly pouting; Caroline gritted her teeth. 

“…In a manner of speaking. Can we talk about this somewhere private?” Though she couldn’t see anyone, Caroline knew that Klaus’ compound was never truly empty. The walls had ears, and she did not want those ears to hear what she had to say next. 

Klaus gestured grandly now, smiling. It was a cruel expression. Caroline wished it didn’t make her hot under her collar, worse than any heatwave New Orleans could offer up. 

“We are alone, aren’t we, luv?” There was a difference in how he said luv, like this, like it was a mocking thing, and how he called her love when he was inside of her, gasping, stripped bare for her. Only for her. “Just you, me, and… me.” 

Caroline flushed. “Fine. If you want to be a jerk about it, I won’t bother trying to be discreet. Bonnie says we have to have a threesome.” 

Whatever Klaus was expecting her to say, it certainly wasn’t that. 

Flummoxed, the King of New Orleans gaped for a solid minute. Caroline was sure she heard giggles echoing, ghostly, from somewhere behind her. 

“Klaus?” She prompted. “Maybe we should go somewhere private, now.” 

With another dramatic whirl, Klaus stalked off towards his rooms. Caroline sighed and dragged Niklaus with her, trotting at her side like a long-legged sexy puppy. A golden retriever. 

A golden retriever she was going to have sex with. 

God, Caroline thought again, as resolute as she’d ever been. I see what you have done for others… 

*** 

For all his shock and posturing and jealousy, Klaus did not hesitate to draw her in for a ferocious sort of kiss as soon as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom, his hands tearing open her blouse with vehemence, matching his enthusiasm from their first time so long ago in the Mystic Falls woods but with an edge of anger. 

Caroline forgot, briefly, that they weren’t alone in the room. She forgot a lot of things, when Klaus was kissing her like this. 

He tore her bra down the middle, freeing her breasts, and then spun her around so that she faced his human self, bare-chested, heaving, unprepared. 

Niklaus groaned, the sound full of want. His eyes were so very blue, fever-bright, as they traced over her skin with a gaze so heavy she nearly felt it. 

“Cȳmu.” He uttered, but did not stir from his spot across the room, practically pressed up against the closed door. 

“Gea.” Klaus agreed at her back, touching her possessively, slipping one hand into her skirt while the other fondled her exposed breasts. “Rīċen.” 

“Rīċen.” Niklaus repeated, like a prayer. 

Caroline opened her mouth to complain about them talking about her when she couldn’t understand them, but moaned instead when Klaus did something unspeakably clever with his fingers on her clit. Her whole body felt consumed with fire. 

“Niklaus,” she gasped, and meant both of them. 

“Gea, ancum.” Klaus said to his double, beckoning him. Warily, Niklaus moved closer until Caroline’s grasping hands could curl into his tunic, tearing at it, trying to pull the thing over his head. 

“Will you let him fuck you?” Klaus whispered in her ear, fucking two fingers into her like he’d die if he didn’t feel her come around them in two-point-seven seconds. “He’s untouched. Unloved. A cowardly bastard.”

Caroline gasped, spreading her legs to make room for Niklaus, who was suddenly there between them, resting his forehead against hers, whispering reverently in his foreign tongue. 

“Will you, Caroline?” Klaus pushed, and said something to Niklaus that had him pulling his trousers down, stripping his tunic off. 

“Yes,” Caroline nearly wept. “Damn it, Klaus, yes!” 

Klaus snarled, pulling his fingers free, and then jerked Niklaus forward with a hand tangled in the leather cord he wore around his throat, strung with a carved bird in flight. 

The world exploded in light. 

***

“Well that was— unexpected.” Caroline said blankly, laying half-dressed on Klaus’ bedroom floor. 

“Caroline.” Klaus said, raw-voiced. His hands found her thighs, drawing them apart, and then he was on her, fucking into her the way his double had just done, like she was the most glorious thing on earth. 

It was— it made Caroline’s throat go tight. 

She clutched him close, greedy to feel their skin pressed together, and spoke in his ear, a constant stream of Klaus and closer and don’t stop. 

“Caroline.” Klaus said, again, drawing back so he could look in her eyes. 

He was too beautiful. 

Looking at him made her feel like she could burn down the entire world, if he was by her side. 

“Do it,” she said, hardly knowing what she meant even as she dragged his face to her throat, baring all her vulnerabilities to him. “Do it.” 

Klaus spoke again, sounding drunk. “I love you.” 

He bit down. 

“Yes.” Caroline said, and arched until she could sink her teeth into his shoulder, tasting the bright addictive flavor on her tongue for the first time since she’d been dying in her bed on her birthday. 

I love you, she thought, and knew he heard her from the way his lips twisted into a grin around his mouthful of her skin. 

***

don’t you hear me howling? 

don’t you hear me howling, babe?