‘Requested* Klaus x Reader fic where they meet after season 4
(This is more from Klaus´ perspective than usual. Also, I could totally imagine that is what Klaus could be up to at the moment. Okay maybe with a little bloodshed on top, but hey. Do let me know what you think if this one. Happy reading my lovelies!)
Characters: Klaus x Reader, Mikaelson´s (mentioned), Stefan (mentioned)
Story Title:“Piece of work. art”
Warnings: To Season 4 Spoilers, Tvd Season Finale Spoilers,
Klaus has always liked Chicago, so it was not much of a surprise when he found himself arriving at the city after he forcefully parted ways with his siblings.
He kept himself busy with drawing and showing off his work in several exhibits.He always expected people to simply rush by his work, because it is diverging from his usual style and admittedly also not his best work. What he certainly did not expect was someone staring at the piece of art for several minutes.
Klaus: “An interesting piece, wouldn’t you say?”
A man stops next to the abstract piece of art hanging on the wall, his voice thick with a British accent and his hands are crossed behind his back.
“Whoa,” a soft voice disturbed your reading. You looked up from the book on your lap and looked over to the women who was sitting next to you on the park bench. You followed her gaze right to two men working out on a bench. Well the one in the blue sweats was working out, while the man in the green shorts seemed to be mocking his friend.
“Yeah, it’s a nice view,” you replied with a chuckle.
“Nice? It’s art,” she groaned.
Placing your bookmark on the page you were reading, you closed the book. You turned to the cute brunette and asked innocently, “So, which one do you like?”
Her eyes moved from each man, before settling on the one in the shorts. “Green shorts, he seems funny.”
You sighed in relief and stood up from the bench. “Good choice, because the one in blue is mine.”
She watched in disbelief as you jogged toward Sam and Steve. “Hey, stud muffins!”
Immediately the two men turned at the sound of your teasing voice, Steve grinned as you tossed him your book. “You guys done goofing off or what?”
Steve reached for your waist and pulled you to him. You leaned up and kissed him on the mouth, Sam rolled his eyes and groaned. You waved him off and kissed Steve harder, his hand slid up your back to the nape of your neck.
“Come on!” Sam complained.
Finally you pulled away from Steve and looked over to your friend. “See that cute brunette on the park bench behind me?”
Sam’s eyes flickered to the bench, his eyes lit up. “Oh, she’s cute.”
“Yup. And she thinks you’re funny.”
Steve smirked and slung his arm around your waist, “I’m sure Y/N isn’t lying. You better go before she leaves.”
The two of you watched Sam jog toward the women and sit next to her, immediately the pair started talking and laughing. Steve looked at you and shook his head. “You really are a team player, huh?”
You turned to face the handsome man and shrugged nonchalantly. “I just wanted you to myself.”
“Wow, selfish much?” Steve teased.
“Very,” your hand played with the end of his shirt. Your fingers moved to the elastic waistband of his blue pants. “I want you all to myself.”
“What are you doing?” Steve raised an eyebrow at you.
“I want to show you how much of a team player I am. A real MVP.”
Steve let out a hard groan and quickly took your hand. “Let’s get back to the Tower, NOW.”
“What about Sam?” you asked with false concern, biting down on your lip.
You arrived at Gaston’s exquisite log cabin just outside the village. It must be nice. You mused to yourself, having a place of your own, not having to worry about anyone. “I couldn’t but wondering you appear to be troubled?” Gaston raised an eyebrow, seeing your features, turn from joy to distaste very rapidly.
“Nothing is the matter. You needn’t worry about little old me.” You shrugged, brushed yourself off. Gaston still worried about you though. “That’s the thing, mademoiselle. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since the moment we met today in the village. “ Gaston whispered in a husky voice. Your faces were now only but a few inches apart.
One of the first things Alya learned about Marinette was that she doodled flowers when she was bored.
They started off as small, blossoming roses in the corners of her notebooks that weren’t any larger than the tip of her pinky. If you left her to it for long enough, she’d wrap vines, leaves, ladybugs, caterpillars, bees, birds, clouds, and more flowers all around the margins of her book. Sometimes, she’d sneak her colored felt pens and highlighters to school and add in whorls of colors and outlandish patterns until her entire notebook page was covered with fields and gardens and windowsills dripping in plants. She’d always take a picture of it on her phone – to turn it into an embroidery, or a screen print for a t-shirt, or a design for a book cover – and pout pitifully for Alya to send her copies of her notes.
It blended seamlessly into the normality that was Marinette – the color pink, pigtails, the smell of bread, pinpricks on fingertips, different nail polish everyday, humming music under her breath, and doodling flowers in class.
One day, Alya’s hand was right next to Marinette’s notebook, and Marinette continued the doodle from the edge of the page onto the back of Alya’s hand. Alya raised a brow when she started, but shrugged when Marinette asked if it bothered her. As far as idiosyncracies went, Marinette’s were all rather harmless. Besides, it was rather nice to take notes with one hand and feel the light brush of Marinette’s pen sketching away against her other.
It always took three washes in the shower to get all the pen out, and her mother kept worrying her with folk knowledge about skin cancer and ink poisoning, but Alya didn’t like showing up to school the next day with the sketches still on her arm. It almost felt like her duty to give Marinette a blank canvas everyday, to encourage her darling little habits that were secretly the highlight of Alya’s day.
“Why flowers?” she asked Marinette as she added yellows and oranges to the sunflowers she was drawing along the vein inside of her wrist.
Marinette tapped the end of her pen against Alya’s nose. “Pretty flowers for a pretty lady.”