The Originals Prefrences And Imagines

Critique (Klaus)

Imagine meeting him at his art expo thingo.

You gazed at the art, appreciating it quietly. Usually you didn't come to these sort of things but your Grandparents were huge fans of painting and you wanted to spend time with them.

"Do you paint, Love?"

You turned around to see a dark blonde man smiling widely, showing off his dimples. He looked like this was his day, like nothing could go wrong.

"No actually," You gave a small smile back, "I'm more of a words kind of girl."

"And what does that mean," he raised a brow.

"I'm an artist who uses a biro more than a paintbrush," You now stood side by side, you began to notice how attractive he was, "Poems, stories, songs...that sorta stuff."

He gave you a slight nod. You blushed and looked down. You were shocked that you had been able to form a sentence, even had been able to explain yourself around him.

"Why did you come then?" He gave a slight frown.

You wondered if you had ruined his mood, you scolded yourself for ruining this man's day.

"I do love art, I always have but I've never been good at it," You looked at him, his mood began to lift again, "I think it's amazing that people can express themselves like that. I know it's cliché but it's like looking into someone's soul, connecting with the artist through the canvas."

"You really are an artist of words," he shock his head in amusement, he gazed at you with a twinkle in his eye, "Well, what do you think of this artist's work?"

"I like it," You tilted your head at the painting, "but, I think that they need to stop and smell the roses if you know what I mean."

He nodded like he was very interested in what you were saying.

"See these violent slashes," You pointed some out to him and he frowned, seemingly deep in thought, "Painting is supposed to calm you down, yes, but in this one he used it to fuel his anger."

"How do you know the artist is male," He had a light smirk.

"I don't," You shrugged but wondered over to another, it was of a redheaded woman, "I assumed by this painting but who am I to judge, the painter could be any gender."

"You say that like there's many," his head tilted to the side.

"There is," You gave him a special smirk.

He grinned back and gestured to the painting in front of you.

"Dare to give your critique on this one, Love," He raised his dark blonde eyebrow.

"It looks like they didn't love the girl in this," You frowned at it, "I mean, they certainly didn't paint her like she was very important. She looks more like decoration to me."

He nodded and smiled at you.

"My name is Klaus," He held out his hand to shake, "Klaus Mikaelson."

"Y/n L/n," You shook his hand and he grinned at you.

Suddenly you heard your grandparents calling for you. You gave him a apologetic smile and told him you had to go. He watched you leave, knowing that you were special. He grinned knowing what he was going to do.
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You walked up to your doorstep to see a massive wrapped parcel, you frowned. It had your name written in a beautiful cursive on the front so you knew it was for you.

You picked it up and took it inside. Sitting on your couch you ripped it open and what you saw shocked you. It was you, standing in the room full of paintings gazing at them. It made you look angelic, all the attention was on you. You were only person in the room.

You frowned wondering if this was a metaphor but your eyes drifted to the authors signature.

Klaus Mikaelson

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