tvd preferences & imagines

preference 1-how you meet (tvd boys)

Stefan: It was 1864, and you and your family had been forced to move suddenly after your father had been drafted into the army. The train ride to Virginia seemed like it dragged on forever, with only field after featureless field to keep you company. Finally, you arrived at Mystic Falls, and held your suitcase in one hand and your baby brother on your hip as you stepped off the train. Not paying attention to where you were going, you bumped into a man.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" You exclaimed, mortified that your first experience in your new home would be embarrassing yourself in front of an attractive man.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled. "I'm just waiting for my brother, Damon. He's coming home for a few months."

"Damon Salvatore?" You asked. You had seen Damon in the train's dining car, and had struck up a few conversations with him along the way.

"That's him. I'm Stefan, and you are...?" He trailed off, smiling pleasantly at you.

"(Y/N)", you smiled back.

"Well, considering you already know my brother, I hope I'll be seeing much more of you in the future, (Y/N)"

Damon: It was 1975, and you had just suffered yet another embarrassing breakup with your on-again, off-again boyfriend. This time, he was trying to shame you into changing your outfit: "I don't really think you have the legs for that skirt, (Y/N)" He raised an eyebrow at you.

Scoffing, you threw your bag over your shoulder and walked out-in the skirt that your legs looked great in, thank you very much- and headed to the nearest nightclub in search of fun.

You ordered a drink and sat down at the bar next to a brunette man who seemed wasted out of his mind. You figured he wouldn't talk to you-how could someone that drunk be capable of coherent speech?

You were wrong.

"Hey there, pretty lady," he cooed. "I'm Damon; and I'm really not that bad." He added after you rolled your eyes at him.

"What's your name?" He pressed, swiveling his stool to face you and placing his elbows on his knees.

"(Y/N)" You tell him.

"Well, (Y/N), I'm bored as hell and tired of dancing with drunk girls. Care to entertain me about the spat with your beau that you clearly just had? C'mon, I know an angry girlfriend when I see one."

Was telling a random stranger all about your problems in life a great idea? No. Did you care? No.

Klaus: It was 2016, and you were 20, a junior at the University of New Orleans. You were a photography major and had taken to the streets in the hope of finding some interesting people or things to capture for your project about city life. You wandered around for about two hours, only stopping when you couldn't feel your fingers from the biting wind swirling around you. You stepped into a small cafe, ordered a hot tea, and took a seat at the counter facing the window.

Sipping your drink, you stared in confusion across the street. There stood, arguably, the most attractive man you had ever seen. And he was beckoning to you to come join him. Your instincts got the better of your common sense, and you slid off your stool and left the cafe. Crossing the street, you nearly walked face-first into the man who you were so intrigued to meet.

"Whoa, there love, don't get too excited," chided one of the most attractive accents you had ever heard.

"Sorry," you muttered, grimacing in embarrassment at your lack of coordination.

"That's quite alright," he told you. "I'm Klaus, and you have caught my interest, I must say."

You were immediately suspicious. You may have grown up in a small town, but spending three years in the city had taught you never to trust men with nice smiles and even nicer words.