@ripperdiaries don’t do it. / don’t do it /. her fingertips dig into the skin at the back of neck, brushing against the soft, fine hairs at his nape. they curl around her fingers, and she considers tugging on them, just one last time. she so enjoyed pulling on his hair, secluded in a booth in gloria’s speak-easy, as they devoured a single, unwilling person one at each pulse point. he made such pretty noises, for such a feared legend. klaus would be disgusted at the sight. not simply at his baby sister in a such an intimate position, but at stefan allowing himself to be controlled. by her, no less. she liked — no, likes — that. she never liked sharing him with her brother. even if they were friends at the time. he would ruin stefan. wipe clean the duality and leave nothing but the haughty persona of the ripper. she enjoys the ripper — she first fell for that side of him, after all. yet, she also knows of the list, of how he put the pieces of his victims back together. he never lacked humanity; he’d loved her, shielded her against the wooden bullets flying through the bar despite both of them knowing it would do him more harm than her.
“you’re infuriating,” she snarls, teeth exposed in a vicious half-grin. then, she janks his head down to hers, connecting their lips roughly. she can allow herself one vice, right? klaus abandoned her, the rest of her family is daggered, and her best friend does not know she’s awake. she isn’t even sure eliana knows she’d been daggered for ninety years, in the first place.
