𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 Kai Parker's little sister, Elizabeth after escaping her prison world, sleeps with the only vampire that can procreate, just her luck. Being pregnant with a miracle child, what a joke.
[Klaus Mikaelson]
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.。o○o。.★.。o○o。.
Since the Harvest, things had been... calm. Suspiciously calm.
Rebekah, Hayley, and Elijah had kept a certain distance from Elizabeth at first. Understandable, really—after her confession about killing her siblings and being locked in a prison world, the air around her changed. She admitted it sounded unhinged, even for New Orleans. But if anyone could wrap their heads around ancient family trauma and violent history, it was the Original family.
Eventually, the tension faded.
Hayley, in particular, softened quicker than the rest. One night over wine and leftover beignets, she admitted she'd done plenty of awful things herself just to get information about her own family. After that, they found common ground again, and things started to feel—if not normal—then at least familiar.
Klaus, however, was different.
Not cold, not distant. The opposite, actually. He became suffocatingly overbearing. Hovering. Protective to the point of absurdity. Elizabeth couldn't so much as walk down the stairs without him appearing beside her, hand out like she was made of glass. It was infuriating.
She figured his paranoia was partly due to her father's looming threat, but mostly it was what happened a few days after the Harvest. She'd woken up in the middle of the night screaming, clutching her stomach, pain slicing through her like a blade. Klaus had nearly torn the walls down trying to get to her. He'd shoved his blood down her throat before she could protest, then compelled their obstetrician to make a house call at 3 a.m.
The diagnosis? Stress. Just stress. The doctor gave her pills and warned her to avoid any emotional strain, especially after the recent string of earthquakes. Apparently, the babies were just... shaken.
Klaus hadn't relaxed since.
Marcel, meanwhile, had made himself perfectly clear. He looked at her like she was a ticking bomb—or a monster. She caught the glare in his eyes every time they crossed paths, and though he didn't say it aloud, she knew what he thought: You killed your own siblings. You're worse than me.
She didn't need his judgment. Especially not from someone who'd betrayed Klaus, banned witches from practicing magic, and then had the audacity to act like a martyr when his own secrets spilled out. Marcel was grieving Davina, and fine, maybe that clouded his thinking—but he'd conveniently forgotten that he and Rebekah had come begging Elizabeth to keep their little scandal hidden. And she had. Reluctantly. Only for Rebekah's sake. Still, there was something delicious about watching the so-called king of New Orleans lower his head and beg.
Let him look at her like that. At least now he knew not to push her.
