TVD/TO: The Original Husband

What happens when a modern day dude is dropped into the TVD Universe? Will he become a Vampire? Or is he a Werewolf? Or maybe he is a Witch? Read this fanfic to find out more. Male OC X Rebekah Mikaelson Forgive me if the characters are out of character. The story starts from 999 A.D. !!! Caution: I know some people are dissatisfied with the front portion of this fanfic, but please be patient. I assure you it will be worth it. At least read until chapter 20 before deciding to drop this fanfic. !!! (I don't own anything except my MC, and I am new to this so if there's any grammar, spelling or constructive criticism you want to let me know, feel free to leave a comment.)

TheOneAtTheMoon · TV
Not enough ratings
24 Chs

Who Are You?

Content Advisory: Be warned that there is some mention of suicide in this chapter. You have been warned.

Rebekah's POV

"Ah, Rebekah, I had a feeling you would be with him," came a familiar voice, causing me to turn sharply. There he was, my treacherous, backstabbing brother, standing before me. A turbulent torrent of emotions—anger, betrayal, and a searing sense of hurt—engulfed my thoughts. I let out a primal vampire snarl, my gaze fixed on him.

Upon seeing him, my heart pounded with a mixture of rage and hurt, but I restrained myself from acting on impulse. Still, I couldn't deny the urge that surged within me.

"You, narcissistic, conniving, backstabbing wanker!" I hissed with a venom-tinged voice, dripping with both wounded betrayal and a hint of bitterness. My fingers closed around a wooden pool cue resting nearby, and with a surge of superhuman strength, I snapped it in two with a sharp sound cutting through the charged air.

Rushing towards him, driven by an unsettling cocktail of emotions, I thrust the jagged end of the makeshift stake towards his abdomen. A trickle of crimson stained his clothes as a pained hiss filled the air, but I wasn't done yet.

Ignoring his protests, I moved swiftly, forcing the other half of the wooden weapon into his hand, preventing him from removing the shard piercing his gut. A groan of agony escaped him, and though a twisted satisfaction blossomed within me, it couldn't soothe the storm of emotions that raged inside. I whispered coldly into his ear, "This is for our mother," as a mix of grief and anger simmered beneath my controlled exterior. I twisted the shard slightly, relishing the fleeting relief from the anger in me.

He managed to ask through clenched teeth, pain etching lines on his face, "How did you find out?" Before I could retort, a sensation akin to being plucked from the ground enveloped me, invisible chains immobilising my form as gravity's embrace lost its hold.

"Don't mind us, Klaus. We were just leaving. Continue your conversation with the doppelgänger," Cassius' voice sliced through, his wooden stick pointing toward me, emanating a faint purplish glow that danced across its surface.

My brows furrowed, a blend of confusion and frustration marrying my features.

What the bloody hell is that? How can he do magic? What else is he not telling me?

The questions raced through my mind, but there was little time to dwell. Anger and betrayal still coursed through me, directed not just at Klaus, but at Cassius too.

How can he, of all people, take his side?

"Release me right this instant, Cassius Nightshade!" I demanded, struggling fruitlessly against his telekinetic hold.

"Come along, my dear," Cassius' calm voice reached my ears, and with a wave of his wand, he whisked me away from the scene.



As I cut off my supply of magic, the telekinetic spell over her dissipated, causing her to drop unceremoniously to the ground, landing right on her ass.

Grimacing, I quickly apologised, my tone slightly exasperated. "Sorry, still working on perfecting the landing part."

"What the hell was that? Since when did you become a witch?" She dusted herself off, a mix of anger and curiosity in her eyes.

"Doesn't matter." I shrugged nonchalantly, attempting to regain my usual composure, but she interrupted me, frustration clear in her voice.

"Doesn't matter? You just yanked me away with your magic just as I was about to finally get back at Nik for what he did to my mother. At the very least, you owe me an explanation."

Hearing that, I couldn't help but let out a wry chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

"Ha, do you remember calling Mikael to kill Klaus in New Orleans back in 1919? Does he know? I'm guessing not. Tell me, Rebekah, how is Klaus covering up his role in your mother's death for a millennium any different from your little scheme to take down your bastard half-brother?"

"How did you kno–" Her face contorted with an unmistakable jolt of astonishment and her pupils reflexively constricting in sheer disbelief.

"You and Marcel Gerald's dirty little secret? Yeah, I knew all about that." I interrupted her with a scoff.

She was genuinely lost for words for a moment, then snapped indignantly.

"What on earth has gotten into you? You've been acting so differently lately. I thought we were past all the secrecy between us."

Her words brought back memories of our promises under that Sakura tree, where it all began. The pact we made, the pinky swear to always share, no matter how difficult.

Those were the good times...

Seeing me go silent, she pressed on, her tone softening.

"So you knew I was there. Why didn't you come to me? And since when did you become this person who enjoys torture and threats?"

Her next words, however, struck a match to an unforeseen rage within me, an inferno impossible to suppress. Its flames licked at the edges of my self-control as my voice sliced through the air like a blade.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from a Mikaelson. Your family practically invented torture and threats."

"Please," she pleaded, her features etched with genuine concern, "just talk to me. Help me understand what happened to you."

A chorus of shattering glass erupted from the nearby lampposts, each breaking shard a mirror of my own roiling emotions, matched by the darkening sky above. I clenched the bridge of my nose, desperately struggling to leash the sudden tempest of anger.

"Fine, you want to know? I'll tell you." My words spat out, frustration and exasperation painted across every wild gesture I made.

With a mix of anger and sorrow, I continued, "I woke up in my grave two centuries after my death, only to spend my existence searching for you. Then, fourteen years later, I was caught by a psychotic, powerful witch and enslaved for four long centuries, enduring endless mental torment. And when I finally broke free, do you know what I found? I found you in New Orleans in 1835, having sex with Marcel Gerald. Can you even imagine what my heart felt at that time?"

Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, forming delicate reservoirs of unspoken sorrow. But despite the fragile state of her composure, I pressed on, my voice quaking with the weight of my question.

"DO YOU?!" I thundered, my voice deepening further as a swirling black shroud enshrouded my eyes, as though I were possessed by the devil incarnate. The force of my shout hit her like a sudden gust of wind, causing her to instinctively recoil in fear.

"Let me tell you, it was as though a thousand blades had mercilessly pierced my heart, each cut tearing it into fragments impossible to piece back together. I was left broken, alone, betrayed, and drowned in an endless sea of pain and suffering. Since then, I've lost count of how many times I've thought about just ending it all. But you know what? Despite it all, despite the agony, my damn love for you stopped me time and time again."

"Huu." Breathing in and out, I quelled the inner turmoil raging inside me and continued on with my story.

"Since then, I've spent the next two centuries piecing myself together. And then recently I heard about the Original family being here which led me to come back here to Mystic Falls and end Mikael's life so that I could finally be with you. So forgive me if I don't meet your lofty standards."

By now, her cheeks were stained with the silent evidence of her sorrow, each glistening tear carving a path down her delicate skin. Her eyes, usually sharp and determined, were now pools of swirling emotions, a tempest of regret and guilt churning within their depths. I stood there, struck by the weight of what I had unleashed, realising that my words had cut deeper than I intended.

With a gentle touch, I reached out to her, my fingers brushing against the moisture on her cheeks, absorbing the tangible traces of her heartache. The texture of her skin under my touch was soft and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the strength she usually portrayed. Her trembling hands, once poised and fierce, now clung to the fabric of my jacket, as if seeking an anchor in this turbulent sea of emotions.

Amidst her quivering sobs, her voice emerged, fragile and shaky, carrying the weight of her confession.

"I didn't know. If I had only known..." Her voice cracked, and her eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and remorse, as if she were replaying a string of moments she wished she could undo. Her words trembled on her lips, her head shaking in a desperate rhythm that mirrored the chaos of her thoughts.

In that moment, time seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with unspoken regrets and the fragile threads of our shared history. And as her tears fell like raindrops, each one a testament to the hurt I had experienced and she had unknowingly caused, I found myself at a loss for words. The depth of her anguish was etched into every line of her face, every quiver of her voice, and it tugged at the frayed edges of my own heart.

Instinctively, I lifted my free hand to her lips, my touch gentle as a feather's caress. It was an unspoken reassurance, an attempt to soothe the tumultuous storm that raged within her. Her lips were cool against my fingertip, a stark reminder of the vulnerability she was showing me. The quivering of her lips, the way her breath caught in her throat, spoke of a sorrow too deep to be contained by mere words.

"Shh," I murmured softly, my voice carrying a mix of empathy and comfort.

"It's alright," I assured her softly. My eyes locked onto hers, seeking to convey a depth of empathy that words alone couldn't capture. "Everything is going to be okay." The words carried the weight of my earnest wish, a promise that, despite the scars that marred our past, there was a chance for us to heal and be together like we were used to be.