Klaus Mikaelson x reader
When the chime on your shop door rang, the hairs on your neck stood up.
Your back was turned. Running a hand across your face, you still. You tightened your hold on a small jar of dried herbs until the tips of your fingers turned white.
"Just a sec," You call out. Gently placing the jar back on the shelf, you take a breath.
"I was told you were the witch to see, how disappointing."
The proud, playful voice made you whip around to face the man. You were met with a crooked smirk that tilted a little to the left, and amused eyes.
Oh. Oh no.
"Klaus." You tried to keep your voice even.
Taking a step towards you with both hands behind his back, the hybrid's smirk only grew. You never took your eyes off him. He was a vampire with vampire reflexes.
"C'mon then love, you are a witch and I am in need of one. Shall we?"
He nodded towards the door, but you couldn't move your feet. Wouldn't. Flaring your nostrils at him, you felt a fire in your gut.
You were a witch. Your power was your own, not Klaus's. Who was he to tell you how to use it?
"My magic won't be used to kill." You said. Your eyes stared directly into his and held it. They were normal, human. But you knew what he was. A hybrid lurking beneath the surface waiting for an excuse. You just gave him one.
He smiled, but any hint of amusement was gone. In its place, Klaus's movements—the way his eyes darkened, how he stood in place, leaning backwards ever so slightly—all served the appearance. The calm veneer to hide his seething.
You repeated yourself, anyway. A little louder, a little firmer. The Originals caused destruction everywhere they went; they were selfishness embodied. And still demanded to be worshipped and go unquestioned.
You swallowed hard. Klaus picked up a random trinket on a shelf near him.
"You would do well to remember—"
"Ask me for anything else, but not to kill." You pleaded with him, searching for a shred of practicality.
None came.
Faster than you could react, he was in front of you. You could see an Original up close and live to tell it.
Raising your available hand palm up, Klaus drops to his knees. You watch as his hands try and make a fist, with no luck. A ghost of a gasp still on his face, you still believed he was too close. Too close, too powerful, too pissed.
Flicking your hand towards the door, Klaus went flying. Before he could recover you ran out onto the crowded street, packed with tourists.
He was on you faster than you anticipated. Slightly more disheveled than when he first arrived—a thin layer of dust on his jacket, tufts of hair sticking up in the back—Klaus was very much back to his cool demeanor. To the untrained eye, he was at ease.
But you weren't anyone. You could see the patience of a true predator as you stood in the crowd, with a rush of people pushing past you.
"Fine." His voice rang out, "Sell your bloody herbs, witch."
Flaring his nostrils at you, you blinked and he was gone.
Letting out a breathe you didn't know you were holding. The reality set in. You pissed off more than an Original vampire, you pissed off Klaus.
Dialing a number, it rang twice before he picked up.
"Vincent, I—please come get me. I need your help."
