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insomniumstella · 1 year

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spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts.

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven.

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around.

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil.

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh.

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.”

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.”

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago.

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole.

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose.

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?”

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her.

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days.

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi.

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.”

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?”

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front.

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.”

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze.

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee.

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.”

“How undercooked?”

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.”

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact.

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.”

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.”

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.”

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile.

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?”

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them."

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.”

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer.

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.”

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters:

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on.

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”.

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides.

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you.

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side.

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.”

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises.

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.”

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding.

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?”

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness.

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.”

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time.

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves.

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.”

“Who’s Samuel?”

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?”

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.”

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again.

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”

“People do say opposites attract.”

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.”

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him.

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones.

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.”

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.”

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early."

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.”

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x baker reader #bucky x baker!reader #insomniumstella #bucky x reader spice & honey

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athenamikaelson · 8 months

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hii i was wondering if you could do a imagine where the reader is klaus daughter and she is a tribrid like hope and her boyfriend died or something like that (you can change it idc) and she turns her humanity off and she is all badass and he tries to turn it back on also i love your blog

Klaus Mikaelson x Daughter!Reader

Summary- Reader is Klaus’ daughter and also a tribrid, her boyfriend gets killed which results in her flipping the switch. Klaus is there to get her to turn her humanity back on. Also, I didn’t know whether to add Hayley as her biological mother so I’m going to leave that up to you guys and just write the character as someone who had a mother-daughter LIKE relationship. Hayley is also still dead, RIP Queen.

Word Count- 1.6k

A/N- Thank you for the request! And thank you for the compliment!!! <3

Warnings- Blood, Reader has no filter and no cares, mentions of death and killing, body parts, alcohol, swearing, Klaus and the reader have unresolved issues, Reader digs on Hope. (I love you Hope, no one can make me hate you.)

Blood drips down my lips as I throw the body of some rando onto the floor of the dusty-ass bar I’m in. I bring my hand up, wiping the stray crimson liquid off my chin, and bring it back to my lips. I sigh escapes my lips at the taste. Feeling a moment of euphoria; well technically as much euphoria as someone with no emotions can experience.

I catch the sound of the bar door opening from behind me and turn prepared to kill whomever decides to walk in. Unfortunately, the biggest earsore decided to grace my presence. If I could feel annoyance at this moment, I would. I let out a sigh of annoyance as I stared at my father. He stands at the entrance of the bar and casts a glance at the piles of bar patrons, or more truly the bar patrons' body parts, that are scattered across the floor.

“Well, it appears you’ve been busy.” He says with a smirk and slight tilt of his head. He kneels and picks up the head of a man by his hair and glances at me with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve been hanging out with your Uncle too much appears,” he says as he tosses the head back down as if it’s trash.

I just raise a shoulder as I walk behind the bar and pour myself a glass of bourbon.

“Says the man with the nickname, Klaus the Mad.” I shoot back as I down the brown liquor.

“Touche, Little Moon. I do have to say your,” My father pauses as he glances at the bodies around the bar, “habits, definitely come from my side of the family.” He appears to smirk in fatherly approval and then quickly covers it up with a shake of his head.

“Your Uncle Elijah wouldn’t approve of this you know?” He says as he reaches for the bourbon bottle. I watch as he pours himself a drink but before he can grab the glass I speed to grab it. I stare at him as I down the drink and then give him a thoughtful look, “Well why doesn’t he tell me that himself?” My father’s smirk drops and we stare at each other for a moment before I lean back onto the counter and raise my hand in a matter-of-fact movement, “Oh, right. He can’t. Because he’s like dead.” My father just rolls his eyes.

“You done?” He asks me with a look of disapproval only a father could master. I stare at him for a moment, tapping my chin and pretending to be in deep thought.

“Well I mean there’s like countless other dead relatives I could bring up,” I bring my right hand up and start counting on my fingers, “Josh, Hayley, Cami, Jackson.” I ponder some more thinking of all the other people that have died because of my family.

“Your boyfriend. Don’t forget to add him to the list.” I freeze for a split second as I hear my father’s words. I look at him and he’s staring at me with a knowing look. It takes me only another fraction of a second before I let out a laugh.

“I’m not turning it back on,” I tell him as I cross my arms and lean back against the counter. He stares back at me and taps his chin in the same way I had done moments before.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, turn what back on, Little Moon?” He says with a tone that makes me want to stick a white oak stake into his heart.

“Let me guess, Hope calls you crying to Daddy that her sister is going off the rails and hurting and killing people and needs to be stopped. Even though like a month ago she was going around telling everyone, “I’m the big scary tribrid I can’t be killed” and then goes and kills our friends?” I say in a matter-of-fact tone at my sister’s hypocrisy.

My father lets out a sigh as he goes to walk behind the bar next to me, he comes to stand next to me and I subconsciously take a step away resulting in my father stopping and staring at me.

“Y/N, Hope regrets everything she did and only wants you to know that turning your switch off is only a temporary fix.” I pretend to put a small smile on myself before dropping it and laughing in my father’s face.

“God Dad, you’d do a killing at a TED talk, maybe next you can tell a group of teenagers with anxiety to just “chill out” and that it’s all in their heads. Also, why the fuck did Hope get you to do her dirty work, why can't the big bad tribrid come and face me herself?”

“OK first, I have no idea what the bloody hell a TED talk is. And second, your sister called me worried and we both thought it would be a better decision that I come and talk to you. We both know that you have the emotional capacity of a Mikaelson. Just like your father.” He says with a small smile on his face.

“I remember once when you were 11 Kol told you that he wouldn’t teach you a certain spell because he said it was too advanced for you at that age. In retaliation, you went behind his back, stole the spell, and tried your hardest to do it. But as much as I hate to give your Uncle Kol any praise and I deny this if you ever tell him, Kol knows too much about spells and witch stuff so he was right about the spell being for a higher age level.”

I stand there remembering the exact story he’s retelling.

“No, it wasn’t.” I deny. He stares at me and raises his eyebrow.

“You caught your hair on fire, all of it burned off and Hayley had to buy you a wig. The wig was also an atrocious purple color.”

I just stare at him for a second and then nod remembering that the purple wig really was a horrible decision. For a split moment, I felt a light feeling in my chest at the memory but as quickly as I felt it I pushed it away.

“Let that feeling in, Little Moon,” he tells me as he reaches his hand out to touch my arm, but in a split moment, I grab his arm and push it back to a breaking point and push him away speeding to the edge of the room away from him.

“Don’t even try it, Dad, giving me a funny childhood story isn’t going to make me instantly turn it back on. One funny story doesn’t amount to all the other shit that went on,” I look at him in anger, “Do you remember why Hayley had to be the one to buy me the wig and not you?” My father’s face falls and goes to say something but I stop him.

“Hayley had to do it because you weren’t there. You. Weren’t. There. You had to hear this story from Hayley’s letters to you. Letters you never responded to. Just like the phone calls you never responded to me. Waiting by the phone every birthday, waiting for my father to call me, or watching the other girls go to the Daddy daughter dances while my father is across the world killing innocent people. So don’t for a second try to doting father act. I have every right to want a break for one second in my fucking life. Y/B/N dying was just the cherry on top of the fucked up ice cream that is my life.” I finish yelling at him as he stares at me with noticeable regret and heartbreak in his eyes. I watch as he picks up his hand and goes to reach out to me but drops it once I flash my tribrid eyes at him in warning.

“I know I wasn’t there for most of your childhood and I will always regret that,” My dad looks down at his hands and for the first time in my life I see the most feared man in the world look as little and humane as a mortal man, “but I’m here now Y/N. And I’m not going anywhere. You can flash your eyes at me, bite, and yell at me, even threaten me but I’m not going anywhere. I’ve lived a long time and have seen many people go through what you’re going through Little Moon. And I know you’re hurting and I know I’ve left you before and I will spend forever making up for that. And right now you need your family and, I’ll follow and annoy you until you’re ready to flip that switch. Always and forever, My Little Moon.”

When my father is done with his monologue I place another solemn look on my face and walk over to him and give him a small smile. My father seems to lighten up at my approach and goes to meet me but as he comes to pull me into a hug I speed behind him and snap his neck dropping his dead body onto the ground. His body blends with all the other dead people that are already scattered around the bar.

“You can take your Always and Forever and shove it down your throat,” I say to his dead body as I walk out of the bar.

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 22 days

Text

Safe (M, cold)

Well, here I am.

It's been a few months since I've written anything in the Elliot's universe, but recently someone asked for a Mark-centric story, and this behemoth is what ensued. Allow me to preface by saying this: Mark is basically my self-insert. This was a very hard story to write. If it sucks, my apologies, hah.

In this, Mark gets sick from Matt and wants to hide it from Elijah. It is significantly more hurt/comfort-slash-sickfic than snzfic, honestly. It starts fairly benign, fluffy, and silly and gets really intense a few pages in. There's a lot of musing, a lot of being inside Mark's head. Idk. I'm not sure if I love it or hate it. This is the first story I've written on here that has taken me a full week to get down, and that I've written and scrapped multiple scenes. It is very long. I really hope you enjoy it if you read it. I'd love to hear your thoughts, but also understand if it's just too long-winded for people to read. Also, there's a real chance of spelling/grammar errors because I just can't look at this monster of a fic any longer, ha.

Anyway. Onward.

CW: Male snz, illness, coughing, contagion. 6K words (almost exactly)

Safe

“Don’t go near them.”

It’s the first thing that hit his ears as he pushed through the swinging kitchen doors; no ‘hi, Mark,’ no, ‘good morning’, just a barked order with absolutely zero context thrown in. Mark whipped his head in the direction of the stern voice of his boss.

“Good morning to you, too,” he muttered, making his way towards the office, where Elijah was stationed, seated, but not doing any computer work. “Who and what are we avoiding?” he asked as he entered.

“The chefs,” Elijah said, moving his chair to let the younger manager in to sit. Mark placed his backpack on the ground, tossed his coat over top of Greyson’s on the second office chair. Waited for further explanation that did not come.

“Okay…” he said, sitting beside his boss. “And we’re not going near them because…?” Mark hadn’t even seen Greyson or Matt yet this morning. The avoiding was being done for him, so what was Elijah’s deal?

Elijah hummed a low disapproval – of what, Mark couldn’t guess – and turned towards his computer. “You’ll see,” he said, shaking his mouse and pulling up an order guide. “Just don’t breathe your boyfriend’s breath, okay?”

Mark colored at the implication; it had only been a couple of months since Matt and Mark had been outed to the restaurant, and the floor manager still wasn’t used to their relationship being casually dropped into conversation. While Elijah busied himself with admin work, Mark stood – time to figure out what the fuck Elijah was on about.

You would think that finding chefs in a kitchen would be a relatively banal business; they’re chefs. They’re cooking. Hardly a moving target – but you’d be wrong. Somehow, the second a front of house manager starts looking for a chef, they become a ghost. They haven’t existed for a thousand years – are you sure this restaurant even has a chef? Mark couldn’t help but ponder how the fuck this hundred-square-foot kitchen somehow became a labyrinthian nightmare the second he wanted to find his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s boss; c’mon, he’d checked the walk-in, the back kitchen, even the dock to see if they were smoking, where the fuck were they?

Maybe Elijah had told the two of them to stay away from Mark and the front of house staff before the floor manager arrived, and they were playing a cat-and-mouse style keep-away game that Mark was unaware of. Or maybe they had gone to the store to pick up chicken or some shit. Either way, Mark was done looking. Elijah said don’t go near them, he thought to himself, heading back towards the front of the kitchen, easy enough.

Of course, it was the moment that Mark decided he was done looking that he quite literally bumped into his boyfriend coming through the kitchen doors.

“Oof,” Matt grunted as they collided. Greyson, not even a step behind him, turned their two-person bump into a three-car-pileup that nearly ended in hot coffee being spilled over all of them.

“Christ, Chef, watch where you’re going,” Matt muttered untangling himself from the middle of the pack.

“Mbe watch where I’mb going?” Greyson asked, wiping his coffee-covered hand on his chef’s pants. “The two of you are practically grinding on each other here and I ndeed to watch where I’mb going?”

Mark clocked it in the chef’s voice immediately – oh. That’s what Elijah meant.

But… he had said both of them… right?

Mark’s head shot up from checking to make sure he didn’t have coffee all over his button-down to look Matt directly in the face – ah. Fuck.

“Hh-! Hh’ITSHZH-ue! HRTSHH-ue!” Matt collapsed to the side to sneeze, seemingly in lieu of responding to Greyson’s dig. “Snf. Fuck off, Chef.” There it was.

“Bless you,” Mark said, attempting not to sound accusatory. Matt just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

Before Mark could respond to the unnecessary apology, Elijah’s voice rang out once again from the office. “Mark, I told you to stay away from them!” The GM stood from his desk chair and strode into the kitchen, physically pushing Mark and Matt away from one another. “Six foot distance,” he said, pointing at both of them. “And you,” he said, addressing his counterpart, “didn’t I tell you to go get some tea and sit the fuck down? We have a big night tonight and I need you conscious, please.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and held up his cup. “I was on mby way to sit when the children starting gyrating on each other in the mbiddle of mby kithcen,” he said. “Don’t put this one on mbe.”

Elijah squeezed the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “First of all,” he said, moving towards Greyson and plucking the cup from his hand, “that isn’t tea.”

“The tea we buy is gross,” Greyson whined. “And I’mb ti – hh! Hh...hhuh-ETSHZH-ue! Snrf, fuck.” Greyson took a moment to collect himself, to wipe his nose on his sleeve and cough – a wet, concerning sound – before finishing his sentence. “I’mb tired,” he said, snatching the cup back.

“Which is why I told you to go sit down,” Elijah said, pressing his palms together and accentuating each word with his hands. “And please do not get my front of house manager sick. I beg, Greyson.”

“Talk to him,” Greyson said, thumbing towards Matt. “I’mb ndot the one with my tongue in Mark’s mbouth twenty-four-seven.”

Mark’s face flamed once again, but Matt, either too sick to care or beyond the embarrassment that was a public relationship in the work place, just rolled his eyes.

“Jealous, much?” Matt asked under his breath. Greyson shot daggers with a glance at his sous, and Mark decided it was probably time to step in.

“Listen, how about I go grab the two of you some medicine from down the street, you both take a rest, and then by the time the meds have kicked in, everyone should be good for service.” Mark looked to Elijah for his blessing; his boss was obviously mulling it over, considering. “And this way, I’ll be out of the metaphorical splash zone,” he finished, which finally prompted a nod from Elijah.

“Okay,” his boss said. “Good idea, Mark. You two – come with me.”

The GM led the two chefs back into the dining room to lay in the back booth while Mark let out a sigh. He was happy, of course, to be out of the fight, to have seemingly calmed everyone down, and to have put his boss’s mind at ease.

Unfortunately, he was fairly sure that – despite Elijah’s eased mind – it was already too late for keeping himself away from the newest restaurant pestilence.

***

“Elijah is going to kill me, Matt.”

“Oh, please, he is ndo – ITSZCHH-ue! ndot,” Matt said, swiping the bottle of Dayquil from Mark’s hand and chugging it. “You gonna sit?” he asked, sniffling and patting the milk crate beside him and shivering. Mark sighed.

“I’m not gonna sit, because Elijah is going to kill me even more if he sees me sitting right next to you.”

“I’mb gonna go out on a limb here and say that’s ndot possible,” Matt said, dissolving at the end of his sentence into a chesty cough.

“You’re coughing now, too?” Mark asked, worry about Elijah’s anger usurped very suddenly by concern for his boyfriend. Mark placed a hand to Matt’s head. “Oh, honey.”

“Sorry,” Matt said, not bothering to move Mark’s hand. Mark huffed out a little laugh.

“Don’t apologize for being sick. Please,” he said, moving his hand to cup Matt’s cheek. “Even if Elijah might kill us both.”

Matt smiled, pressed his face harder into Mark’s hand. “You might ndot get sick. You ndever know,” he muttered, eyes closing as Mark held his head up.

“Matt,” Mark laughed, “I mean… I don’t think that’s, uh, possible after last night.” Matt’s eyes blinked open at the mention of it, and a little smile flitted across his lips.

The apartment had been quiet.

“Matt?” Mark called as he stepped inside. “Babe, are you home?”

He strained his ears; the shower was on. Mark had an idea.

He tiptoed across the cold apartment floor, quietly stripping as he went; by the time he got to the bathroom door, he was nude as the day he was born. The bathroom door wasn’t closed all the way, so he pushed inside silently and pulled back the curtain.

A fact about Matt that shocked Mark more than anything was that the man did not get scared. He had yawned through their first haunted house together; he fell asleep during the Terrifier movies, for Christ’s sake. So Mark was unsurprised when, instead of screaming bloody murder the way he would’ve if Matt snuck up on his in the shower, his boyfriend simply turned away from the spray and smiled.

“You’re early,” he murmured, ushering Mark in.

“I came right from the gym,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. “I wanted to see you.”

“Mmmm,” Matt hummed, pressing himself into Mark’s arms. “That’s nice, baby.”

They stood that way for a few minutes, until Mark tipped Matt’s chin up towards his face. “I wanted to see you,” he said, pressing his lips onto Matt’s neck, “but I also wanted to… do things. With you.”

Matt’s breath caught in the back of his throat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low. “Like what?”

Mark stood back to his full height, and pushed Matt against the shower wall. “Let me show you.”

“Fair enough,” Matt said now, lifting his head. “But, I mbean, are you feeling okay right ndow?”

He was, for the moment. But, Matt had seemed alright last night, and clearly he’d already been on the trajectory towards ill – despite that fact that he had been very good at hiding it. Whatever he and his boss had picked up was certainly quick to come on.

“I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me,” Mark said, rummaging through the drug store bag to hand Matt, who’d fallen into another paroxysm of coughing, the Robitussin. “I’m more worried about you than anything.”

Matt snapped the top off and chugged this medicine as well, seemingly without any concern about mixing two medications. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I kndow Elijah is worried about getting through the weekend, but it’s ndot like any of us haven’t worked with a cold before.” He shrugged then, handed Mark the medicine, and stood. Mark stood as well, and once again cupped Matt’s hot face – this time with both hands.

“Please just take it a little bit easy tonight, okay?” Mark said. “I know Greyson is sick, too, but don’t try to do too much. We don’t need another moment like a few months ago.”

“And to think I’d just forgotten about that,” Matt said, going on tiptoe to kiss his boyfriend. “I’ll be okay.” Mark kissed him back, a little longer than was maybe necessary; long enough that neither of them heard the back door open until it was too late.

“Mark, what the fuck are you doing?”

Oh, fuck.

Elijah.

***

By the end of the night, Greyson and Matt were shadows of their former selves.

“Hh-! Hhhuh… hhNGTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! ETSZCH-ue! Fuuuck mbe,” Greyson muttered as he wrenched into the sleeve of his hoodie – chef coats had been abandoned about an hour into service, when both he and Matt started shivering hard enough to fuck up the plating on more than half the dishes – for the millionth time that night. He attempted to clear his throat, prompting a flurry of congested coughs.

Behind him, Matt was sitting on the cold, industrial kitchen ground, head between his knees. “I’mb gonna pass out, I just kndow I am.”

“Don’t fuckigg pass out,” Greyson growled, pulling his sous to his feet. “You ndeed to get your blood mboving, you gotta stand up. Idiot.”

The two of them, bickering and sneezing in near-unison by the pass, had captivated the attention of both front of house managers, who had turned away from their computer work to watch the mess unfold.

“Hope you like what you see,” Elijah said, finally. “Because that’s gonna be you tomorrow.”

Behind his boss’s back, Mark rolled his eyes. “Boss, I’m fine. I don’t feel sick at all, trust me, I’m going to be okay.” It was mostly true; he’d sneezed a few more times today than was normal for him, yes. And he was a little tired – no more than usual, surely. The rawness in the back of his throat was easily ignored with huge gulps of water. He was fine.

“Mmm,” Elijah said, swinging his chair around to look the younger man in the eye, “sure. Whatever you say, Mark; just remember, if you look even close to how bad Matt does tonight, you’re off the floor. And I mean off the floor until you return to normal. A cold is one thing; whatever these two have is entirely another. Understood?”

Mark swallowed around his burgeoning sore throat; off the floor. Off the floor didn’t mean relegated to busywork behind the scenes; it meant sent home. Being sent home meant days without a backup manager to help Elijah on the floor, and no one to help on the floor meant Elijah would realize there was a gap in their team. A gap in management. Mark had been the only floor manager in all the years Elliot’s had been open; Elijah had mentioned a few times that maybe they should hire another person, someone to cover if both Mark and Elijah couldn’t come in, but Mark had been vehemently against it. Elijah couldn’t hire another manager, because if he did, he’d see how truly unqualified Mark had been for his position all this time. Once he saw how unqualified he was, he’d be out on his ass. No job, no money… no second family. No place he truly belonged.

Mark’s face flushed, and he cast his eyes towards the floor. “Yes, boss,” he said. “I understand.”

“Good,” Elijah said, nodding. “Now, go collect your boyfriend and take him to bed.”

***

The first time Mark was sick while working at Elliot’s was well over a year into his tenure.

Elijah had regarded Mark with concern, clocking him as unwell the second he sat in the office. “You don’t look well,” he said. “Are you feeling okay?”

Mark’s face had flushed, embarrassed; not getting sick for over a year working front of house was honestly a feat of accomplishment in the restaurant industry, but he still felt guilty for coming down with something, despite its inevitability. He shrugged, an attempt at playing it cool.

“I’mb okay, boss,” Mark croaked. “Just a cold.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “Are you sure it’s just a cold? You feel okay to work?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, confused. Did he look that unwell? “I mbean… yeah?” he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Why?”

“Well,” Elijah said, opening a drawer and pulling out cold medicine, along with a small bag that looked like it could’ve come from his mother’s medicine cabinet. “A cold, we can work with.”

The GM explained to him, then, that there were marked differences between the front of house cold, and the back of house cold. “You’ve seen Greyson sick at work a dozen times,” Elijah said, passing Mark a cup full of pills and a water bottle. “Right?”

“Sure,” Mark said, swallowing the pills around a painfully sore throat. “It’s ndot like he’s hiding it.”

“Right. Right,” Elijah said, popping open a stick that looked like – was that concealer? “The chefs, the cooks – they don’t have to hide anything. Us, though? No one wants to be served soup by someone with a stuffy nose. We all get the same shit, but only they’re allowed to look like shit.” He dabbed the concealer under Mark’s eyes, used an expert finger to blend it into his skin. “That’s the industry for you.”

“Are you… putting makeup on mbe?” Mark asked, laughing a bit.

“Sure am,” Elijah said. “A little concealer goes a long way in this profession, Mark. Concealer, and enough meds to tranquilize an elephant.” His boss closed the little concealer pen, put the medicine and makeup away. “I want you on the floor, but I want you to look… alive.” Elijah shut the drawer, shrugged. “Let me know if you start feeling really shitty. Otherwise? Come to the back to blow your nose, and feel free to help yourself to whatever you want in here.”

Mark blinked, a little confused, but grateful for the advice. Elijah seemed… almost fatherly, like this, and he could feel embarrassing tears welling in his eyes at this, the smallest gesture of being cared for. Mark looked down, cleared his throat. “Uh… okay, boss. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Elijah said, patting Mark’s knee. “We’ve gotta take care of each other in this hell hole of an industry, y’know?”

Mark couldn’t look up. The thought of his boss seeing him cry was entirely too much for him to handle. “Right,” he whispered. “Right.”

***

The hardest part of hiding an illness, Mark knew from experience, was speaking.

Putting on makeup and looking like a human instead of a corpse? Easy. He’d learned how to apply concealer so it didn’t look like he was in drag – just enough that in the dim lighting of the restaurant you couldn’t tell if those were dark circles or shadows. He’d learned if you added a tiny bit of blush to your cheeks, no one noticed that your nose was also red, and he’d figured out the hard way that there was never a world in which he needed eyeliner, even if it made his eyes look less bloodshot.

He always dressed immaculately when he wasn’t feeling well; extra-crisp button down, sport coat, his expensive Ray Ban glasses, not the cheapos from Zenni he usually donned. Mark shined his shoes the second he felt a tickle in his throat, broke out the cuff links if he suddenly sneezed more than thrice in a row. He’d been trained well by Elijah to hide the visual cues of any oncoming malady.

Hiding how he really felt came even more naturally; he’d been practicing that since childhood. Complaining wasn’t in his nature, or had maybe been stamped out entirely at some point – either way, Mark could be actively passing out, unable to breathe, coughing so hard he couldn’t form a sentence, and he wouldn’t even mention it. Of course, he’d been sent home from work for being ill before, but never once had he chosen to go. Even the thought of saying ‘I’m sick’ made him dizzy with unease. You need to work through that in therapy, Matt had said to him multiple times, and he knew it was true, but it was also helpful. In this industry, admitting defeat was akin to admitting you sucked at your job.

The voice, though? That was always what gave him away. No matter how much medicine he took, he could always hear the rasp that overtook his voice immediately. His m’s and n’s turned to rounded shadows of their former selves even if he blew his nose every five minutes. His timbre lowered considerably, to the point that when Matt first saw him sick he asked how it felt to be able to do a perfect Johnny Cash, but only when he felt like shit. It was a problem, but Mark was a pretty quiet guy in general. If he was quieter than usual, usually no one was the wiser.

That’s what he hoped – that his boss would be none the wiser – as he dressed in his perfectly-tailored suit that morning, stifling sneeze after painful sneeze into handfuls of tissue all the while. Just don’t talk, he thought as he dotted Maybeline under his eyes. No one has to know.

Of course, not talking was a bit… difficult when his boss was around. “Good morning,” Elijah called to Mark as he buzzed through the kitchen, trying to make his way into the dining room without having to make small talk. Dammit. Mark stopped, begrudgingly, and nodded at his boss, who raised both eyebrows at the younger manager’s outfit choice. “Is there an event tonight I’ve forgotten?”

Mark shook his head, straightened his tie. “Just felt like dressing up,” he said, tactfully avoiding words with too many nasal letters. “How’re you, boss?”

“I’m well,” Elijah said, pointedly. He patted the empty chair next to him, prompting Mark to sit; don’t let him get a good look at you, a voice in Mark’s head chastised. Don’t get taken off the floor. “Greyson’s not coming in till three, if you want to do your preshift report in here today.”

“That’s okay,” Mark said. “I like the dining roomb.” Fuck.

Elijah cocked his head to the side, but didn’t mention Mark’s voice. “How’s Matt feeling?” he asked, another pointed question.

“He’s okay – a little better. Said he’d be here at four.” Mark patted himself on the back for maneuvering around any pesky m’s or n’s that time. Elijah nodded slowly.

“Glad to hear it,” Elijah said, standing. The younger manager was several inches taller than his boss, but Elijah was still able to look him fairly closely in the eye. Once again, one word rattled around in Mark’s head: fuck. “How are you feeling?”

Mark allowed a smile to form on his rapidly-chapping lips. “Good, boss. Ready to work,” he said simply. God, he needed to clear his throat. And more than that, he really, really needed to blow his nose.

Elijah nodded. “Alright,” he said, apparently placated. “Go ahead, then.”

“Thanks, boss,” Mark said, stepping out of the office doorway and pushing through the swinging kitchen doors before Elijah could say anything else. He’d made it through the first test, somehow. Just in time, too, he thought, making a beeline towards the bathroom. Because I really fucking need to -

“NTSHH!” Mark stifled a near-silent sneeze into his wrist as he yanked open the guest bathroom door. Finally, locked in the bathroom alone, he allowed himself to be as disgusting, as sick as he really was.

“Hhuh -! Hh- ETZSCH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Huh… hh’RRSHH-ue!” Mark collapsed in on himself, scrambling to collect a handful of tissues so he wouldn’t ruin the sleeve of his suit. He blew his nose as thoroughly as he could – not that it made any difference, he was still stuffed up to the gills. A pathetic little cough escaped his lungs, prompting another tickle in his sinuses. “HUHTTSCHH-ue!”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chastised himself, blowing his nose again. He’s going to fucking hear you.

He waited a moment or two to see if Elijah would push through the door – he didn’t – before sitting fully clothed on the toilet and pulling out his phone.

11:56AM

Mark

what is this, the fucking plague?

Almost immediately, Matt texted back.

11:57AM Matt

o shit, did we get you already? baby im so sorry. u shouldve told me u weren’t feeling good last night u couldve stayed over

11:57AM Mark

not your fault. and I’m ok, just trying to avoid Elijah, he’s gonna be so pissed.

11:59AM

Matt

omfg he’ll get over it. its not like someone in that restaurant isnt sick every other week

Mark sighed, his lungs crackling at the effort. Matt was right; someone was almost always sick at Elliot’s, that was the way of things in this industry. They all shared drinks, they worked in close quarters, it was bound to happen. This was less about the illness itself – of course he’d been sick at work before, who hadn’t? - and more about the look he knew he’d see on Elijah’s face when he’d finally have to crack. He’d gone directly against his boss’s orders, had put his job and the restaurant second to his baser desires. That’s no way to get ahead in this world, his dad’s voice bellowed from the base of his brain. Mark shuddered; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face Elijah’s look of pure disappointment. He wasn’t sure he had it in him.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Mark stood and washed his hands. He took an inventory of his face in the mirror – eye bags poorly covered by drugstore makeup, his nose raw and red, his mouth slightly open to allow him to breathe – and realized how truly awful he looked. Was there even a chance that Elijah didn’t know he was sick? Doubtful, his dad’s voice muttered.

You have to just try, another voice in his head pleaded. Just push through, you know how to push through. You’ve done it a million times before. He doesn’t have to know.

That voice, Mark knew, was delusional – a child’s gnawing plea to be accepted, to not get in trouble, to not be thought of as a burden – but he knew that sometimes you had to be delusional, had to listen to the saddest, smallest part of yourself to get through a day. He pulled his phone back out before leaving the bathroom.

12:04PM

Mark

just please don’t say anything to Elijah when you get here, ok? I’m fine, I promise. its honestly probably just in my head, it’s probably nothing so just don’t say anything. see u soon.

Pathetic, his dad’s voice spat, and Mark knew the voice was right. But that was nothing new, nothing to dwell on; he’d always been pathetic. Mark switched off his phone then, not wanting to be comforted by his boyfriend, and stepped onto the floor.

***

“Mark,” Matt said, reaching up to touch the front of house manager’s forehead, “you really need to go.”

Mark pulled away before Matt could touch him, though not by choice. “HRRSHH-uhh! Hh-! HhNTZSHH-ue! Snrrf. Leave mbe alone.”

Matt’s hand recoiled at the ice in his boyfriend’s voice, obviously hurt. Normally, Mark would’ve nearly fallen to his knees at the thought of hurting Matt’s feelings, but today, with the cold from hell progressing quicker than he ever could’ve anticipated, he couldn’t even find it in himself to apologize. Obviously he needed to go, but that would mean admitting to illness; it would mean begin taken off the floor until god-knows-when. It would mean Elijah replacing him.

No. He wasn’t about to go.

“Honey,” Matt said carefully, touching Mark’s hand across the expo board, “I’mb sure Elijah would understand. It’s a slow ndight, he already sent Greyson back home. What are you trying to prove?”

Of course, Matt was right; last night’s crazy shift was in stark contrast to this evening’s steady pace. There were hardly twenty more covers for the evening, and yes, even Greyson had admitted defeat and slunk out right at six p.m., in a fevered haze. The only reason Matt was still here was because his fever had broken this morning and, despite the lingering cough and stuffy nose, he was clearly feeling better. Good enough, even, to have gone behind Mark’s back and talked to Elijah.

“Matt told me,” Elijah had cornered him right before preshift started, in the back server station while everyone else ate family meal. Mark felt his stomach sink. Fucking Matt, he thought, clearing his throat to address his boss in the most normal voice he could muster.

“Told you what?” he asked, straightening his tie. Elijah gave the younger manager a knowing look.

“You don’t look like you feel well, Mark,” he said, obviously trying a different tactic. This time, Mark’s stomach knotted; he felt, for a moment, like a little kid, wanting to fall to the ground in front of his mommy and just allow himself to be comforted. He thought for a fleeting moment of how good it would feel to just admit it; I’m sick, he would say, if he were a normal fucking person, I want to go to bed.

Instead, Mark shook his head. “I don’t kndow what Matt told you, but he doesn’t kndow what he talking about,” he managed, his voice cutting out only once. “I’mb fine.”

Elijah sighed. “Mark, listen, I know I was an asshole yesterday -”

“Boss,” Mark cut Elijah off. “Please. I’mb okay. Just please, let mbe work.”

He’d walked away then, hadn’t let Elijah say whatever it was he wanted to say, and had avoided Matt as well as he could throughout service. Now, mid-shift, when all the cooks and servers were side-eyeing them from he expo board, was not the time to hash this out.

“I’mb ndot trying to prove anything, Matt,” Mark said now, grabbing two plates from the window. “Just stay out of mby business. What table?”

Matt bit his cheek, peaked at the chit. “Please don’t be mbad,” he said, voice quiet. Mark prickled; he couldn’t help it. He was mad. He’d asked one stupid thing of Matt, and now here he was, career in trouble, embarrassed in front of both of their staffs, and once again gearing up for another painful -

“HTTSHH-ue! God, fugck,” Mark swore, ducking expertly away from the plates he was holding. He sucked in through his nose hard enough to make himself dizzy, and looked back at Matt. “What table, Chef?” he asked, pointedly. Matt winced.

“Thirty-three,” he said finally. Mark nodded.

“Great. Thangks.” He turned on his heels and pushed out the kitchen doors.

***

Before it happened, Mark found himself thinking exactly what his boyfriend was moaning the night previous: I’m gonna pass out, I know I am.

The only difference was, Mark was correct.

He’d been feeling shittier and shittier as the night went on. It began with spells of dizziness that came anytime he moved his head too fast, then moved on to an ache in his chest every time he coughed. A cold is one thing, he remembered Elijah saying the night previous. Whatever they have is entirely something else.

Elijah the prophet.

He kept pushing through. Plate after plate came out of the kitchen on his aching arms; he shook drinks while coughing into his shoulder, and sniffled his way through seating guests. Mark could feel Elijah’s eyes on him, though his boss refused to speak to him throughout the shift. I’ll show him, his fever-addled mind kept saying. I can do this. I’m fine.

It wasn’t until the last table had sat that his body well and truly told him he’d had enough. Mark was seeing stars when he grabbed a filet and swordfish, and once again he ignored it. He ignored the room swimming before him as he pushed out of the kitchen. He ignored the sway in his step.

“Shit, Mark!” was the last thing he heard, standing in the middle of the dining room with hot plates in each of his hands. There was no way to tell who said it – Elijah? Matt? – but it didn’t really matter, because before he could respond, his vision became a tiny pinkprick, his knees buckled, and the lights went out.

***

When the world came back into focus, he had somehow teleported into his bed.

At first, Mark tried desperately to get up; he’d fallen in the middle of the restaurant, that he unfortunately remembered immediately. There had been people around, guests watching, and he immediately felt his face flame with embarrassment. Oh, Elijah is going to kill me.

That was when he realized he was no longer in the restaurant. Mark placed a hand over an aching eye; was it all a dream? He looked down – no, it couldn’t be. He was still in his tailored suit, the tie and ciff links missing, but otherwise dressed to the nines.

“Whoa there, kid,” a familiar voice came from the doorway. “Go ahead and lie back down.”

Mark blearily glanced towards the voice. There, just outside his bedroom, stood Elijah, a steaming cup in one hand and a thermometer in the other. Fuck.

“Shit, Elijah, I’mb so sorry I ca – HTSHH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Fuck, ’scuse mbe,” Mark, any facade of health finally washed away, used his expensive suit jacket to wipe his nose. Elijah glided across the small room and sat on the foot of the bed, handing the younger man the cup. Tea.

“Save your breath,” Elijah said. “You already apologized about a hundred times at the restaurant.”

He had? Mark gave Elijah a confused look, and sat back on the pillows behind him. He hadn’t even realized he’d come to at the restaurant at all.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah said, nodding. “To me. To Matt. To the guests. To the EMTs. I would think you’d be apologized out.”

EMTs? Mark cringed; as if he hadn’t been embarrassed enough. He wanted to ask, but at the same time he figured it was probably better that he didn’t remember. Small mercies, he thought.

“Lij,” Mark croaked, taking a sip of the tea, “I really amb… sorry. I mbean, I can’t imagine how mbuch I embarrassed you. Thangk you for bringing mbe home… I understand if you can’t…let mbe, uh. Work there. Anymore.”

Mark, destroyed by fever, and aches, and what was probably some sort of bronchitis-sinus-infection super-fucking-hybrid, couldn’t help but let the angry, ashamed tears fall as he said it. Matt wasn’t here, which most likely meant he was out both a boyfriend and a job. You fucking idiot. You stupid, fucking idiot, how dumb could you -

Elijah broke through the screaming in his head – he took Mark’s arms in his hands, placed his cup on the side table, and pulled him in for a hug. “Mark,” his boss said, “you really had us worried.” He pulled the younger manager back, concern painted on his face. “Of course you aren’t fired, I don’t know why you’d think that of me,” he said, a moment so raw that Mark felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “You should’ve just told me you were so sick. So you could go and rest. I would’ve even let Matt go with you.” Elijah patted his knee then, and handed Mark back the mug. “It’s just a restaurant, Mark. You’re more important than service.”

Mark felt his eyes well up once again. Had anyone ever told him he was worth more than the work he did? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure, and that felt like an even harder gut-punch.

“I just…” he managed, wiping beneath his eyes. “I just didn’t wandt you to replace mbe. I’mb sorry for letting Mbatt get mbe sick.”

At this, Elijah actually laughed. “Mark,” he said, “you’re young. You’re in love; it comes with the territory. I was annoyed because Greyson and Matt are constantly getting everyone in that restaurant sick. I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He smiled then, a small and slightly sad smile. “I’m sorry if that’s how to came off.”

Mark didn’t know what to say; he felt awful, like he’d been hit by a semi, and he just wanted to sleep. See Matt. Apologize for being a dick. And sleep.

“Is Mbatt mad at mbe?” he croaked, pulling his legs into his chest. This time, Elijah actually laughed.

“I don’t think Matt knows how to be mad at you,” he said. “He’s just closing up the line; he was actually the one who brought you back here, but you were racked out so I said I’d come keep an eye on you till he got back.” Elijah shrugged, gave a little knowing smile. “He’ll be back soon. Okay? We don’t have to talk any more about this now. Just… try to sleep.” He patted Mark’s shoulder; a fatherly gesture from a man who claimed to know nothing about being a parent. “I’ll call Matt.”

Finally, finally, Mark conceded. He wanted to thank Elijah, or maybe apologize again, but he couldn’t make his mouth form words. Instead, he just nodded, grateful, and sank back into his pillow. He felt his eyes close, and allowed himself, for once, to let someone else take care of him.

He knew, maybe for the first time in his life, that he was safe.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #snzblr #coldfic #male cold #male snz #whump #whump writing #hurt/comfort #this is such a long fic and does it even make sense??? idk #the beginning and the end are so drastically different it feels insane to even post #but whatever. i've spent like thirty hours on it at this point so it's getting posted #i need to write something fun and silly after this hahaha #if you take the time to read this you're a saint

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Out Of This World

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x fem!Reader x Dean Winchester

Summary: You and the Mikaelsons are fighting a powerful witch that’s trying to take over New Orleans. The only solution: banishment to another universe. However, the spell goes… wrong, and it’s not the witch that ends up in another universe, but you. - At the same time, over a thousand miles away in a bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, an alarm goes off: a rift has opened up. The Winchesters and their angel partners in crime decide to investigate. What will they find when they get to New Orleans?

Word count: 5245 words

Warnings: A whole lot of anxiety, but probably less than in previous chapters.

Previously: "Who's to say she's not a witch herself?" You gawked at Dean. Is this guy serious? A shriek laugh slipped out of your throat before you could stop it. Me? A witch? The situation was just getting more absurd by the second.

You had visited many different places with Elijah over the years of your relationship. He'd taken you to various countries and cities, exposing you to locations and cultures you'd otherwise have never seen.

Stepping foot inside a bunker, however, was still a first for you.

Sam, who introduced himself as Dean's younger brother, gave you the tour. According to him, it covered the basics: kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms, the library and its adjoining 'war room'. The name weighed in your stomach like a heavy stone. You could only imagine what kind of wars were planned in that room, or who those wars were fought against.

"I know it kind of seems like a maze, but trust me, you'll find your way around soon enough," Sam said as he led you through one of the long corridors back to the library. You couldn't help but notice that he'd deliberately left some doors untouched and unnamed.

"How are you holding up?"

You shrugged in response. "It's fine. I've lived in similar places, I'll get the hang of it."

When Dean had mentioned that they lived in a bunker, you had imagined a small, crowded space; clammy, dimly lit and stacked to the ceiling with cans and containers - basically, your average prepper's bunker. You couldn't have been more wrong. Besides an obvious lack of windows, the complex was eerily similar to the compound you'd lived in for the past years, with its many rooms, hundreds of books in the library and old-looking knick-knacks everywhere. It was both a comfort and a punch in the gut at the same time.

"Not what I meant." An amused smile played around Sam's lips as he held open a door for you. You pondered the question until you arrived back at the library where Sam gestured for you to sit at one of the large tables.

"I mean... I'm okay, I think. I don't really know. This is my first time being stranded in a different universe, so I have no reference points, but I think I'm doing okay, all things considered."

"I'll say." Sam's smile was warm and full of compassion. It reminded you of Dean when he'd paid for your coffee almost a day ago now. You hadn't seen much of that in him after that. He had practically ignored you for the entire ride to the bunker, save for some comments here and there that were more in response to Castiel than directed at you. It was just as confusing as it was irritating. You could understand his suspicion to some extent, but with the way he had snapped at you back in the alley, and the way he'd occasionally looked at you through the rearview mirror... Something just wasn't adding up.

Either way, you found his younger brother much more likeable. He was a lot kinder to you, in the same way Castiel had been during the long hours on your drive to Kansas.

"Alright!" Dean dropped the contents of his arms onto the table you and Sam had taken a seat at. He'd brought all the essentials - silver knife, salt and holy water - as well as an angel's blade and a gun loaded with silver bullets in case things went south, both safely tucked into the back of his pants where you couldn't see them. He’d meant what he’d sad to Cas in the alley way. Things were never that easy. There had to be a catch. And he was gonna find out what that catch was.

"Pick it up, if you'd be so kind." Dean gestured at the silver knife and then crossed his arms as he waited for you to touch the knife. He trained his eyes on you so he wouldn't miss a single thing, no flinch nor twitch. If you were going to have a reaction to any of the basic tests, he'd know.

He watched you cautiously lean forward and inspect the items he'd dropped in front of you with furrowed brows.

"What's this?"

Much to his annoyance, Sam jumped in to explain. "Just a few tests to confirm you're human. It's standard procedure for everyone we bring here. Don't worry, you'll be fine."

Dean huffed. "Ts, yeah, we'll see. Go on, then." He nodded at the knife again.

Instead of picking up the knife though, you looked up at him defensively. "What is your problem with me! Why'd you even bring me here if you're so sure I'm gonna do something to all of you?"

He didn't have to think about drawing the angel's knife. It was simply in in his hand as he brought both of them down onto the table in a slam. "Take! The knife!" he bellowed.

"Dean!" Sam chided him from the side, but he didn't care, didn't even look at his brother.

You jerked back, obviously taken aback by his harsh demeanor, and then finally reached for the knife. Dean's fingers tightened around the grip of his own blade. He didn't miss the way your hand was shaking, nor the way your eyes flitted to his blade and back to the table.

"Okay? Can I put it back down?" The knife laid calmly in your palm, your hand showing no sign of not being able to handle silver.

Dean's jaw clenched. So you were no shapeshifter, fine. So what. He felt it in his gut that something wasn't right with you.

"Water's next, then." His eyes stayed trained on you as Sam took the knife from your hand and handed you a shot glass instead, filled with water from the tiny flask Dean had brought.

Again, instead of drinking the holy water, you eyed the content of the shot glass first, then even sniffed at it. Dean felt his throat vibrate as a low growl worked its way up. His patience was worn thin. "Quit stalling. Bottom's up."

There was a defiance in you that he definitely did not like. The way your eyes narrowed at him had his hand twitching, but just then you finally brought the shot glass to your lips and downed the water in one quick go.

Dean watched you like a hawk in the silence that followed, but you just blinked at him. He groaned in frustration.

Not shapeshifter or demon then. What could have counted as good news to other hunters just drove Dean’s frustration up. Could still be a witch.

“Keep an eye on her hands, Sammy. I’m gonna get the shackles,” he growled and tossed the angel's blade over to his brother.

"Shackles?!" Even though you'd stood your ground during their 'tests', the word still came out in a shriek, and in no small part due to the large silvery dagger that Dean tossed to Sam. Paired with his words, it was very clear that the dagger was intended for you.

Sam caught the dagger with ease and you instinctively leaned away from him.

"What? Dean, no - it's okay, don't worry," Sam hastily said to you before turning back to Dean, "is this really necessary?"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean turned on his heels and stared at his brother in visible anger and disbelief. "Since when are precautions not a necessity anymore?"

"Dude, that's not what I'm saying. Just look at her! She's-"

"I am," Dean cut in. "And I see no reason not to be suspicious! Hell, for all we know, she could've opened the port- stay where you are!"

You froze in your spot, hands raised in the air apologetically. "Look, I'm not trying to cause anyone trouble-" you started, but Dean cut you off as well. "Yeah well, too damn late. And put those hands down! Don't even think about hexing us."

I wish I could hex you, you thought in annoyance, but you knew better than to say that out loud. Instead, you inhaled deeply. Breathe. You got this.

"Like I said. I'm not trying to cause anyone any trouble, and clearly my presence here is not... endorsed by everyone." You threw a quick glance at Dean before you continued. "So it's probably best if I just go."

"Like hell it is. You're not going anywhe-"

"Uh, boys, if I may?" Castiel interrupted the scene as he stepped into the library. He was followed by a young man who shyly smiled at you. "I think I might have a solution for this... problem." He nodded at the young man who'd stood patiently beside him, a child-like smile on his face. "This is Jack."

"Cas." It sounded like a warning, almost like a threat, the way Dean spoke the angel's name. You glanced back and forth between Castiel, the young man and Dean. The tension between them was palpable, yet you couldn't say what'd brought it on.

Castiel replied in a similarly low tone, although you weren't sure if it carried the same veiled threat - from what you could tell, this was just the way he spoke. "Dean. You can trust me on this."

Judging by Dean's face, he was not a fan of whatever Castiel was suggesting, regardless of whether he trusted the angel or not, but he didn't interrupt Jack when he stepped forward into your direction.

There was nothing threatening about the young man's approach, but you found yourself taking a step back regardless. Sam and Castiel seemed kind enough, almost sympathetic even, but Dean's attitude towards you had your nervous system on high-alert.

"Oh, it's okay. I won't hurt you." Jack smiled at you again as he closed the distance between the two of you. "May I?" His hands were hovering near your temples, clearly awaiting your permission to touch your head, yet he didn't offer an explanation. It was rather unsettling.

"Uhh..." Your eyes flickered from his hands over to Sam's face. Despite his furrowed brows, he still gave you an encouraging nod, and so after you swallowed down the lump in your throat, you gave your okay.

Despite Klaus' best efforts, Elijah hadn't spoken much in the first night of your absence.

While their sisters had been out studying the ancient scrolls again, Elijah had sat in the compound's office and stared into the flames of the fireplace. Klaus had tried his best to be there for him, but his older brother had ignored all his attempts, save for the glass of whiskey he'd slipped into his hand and had dutifully refilled throughout the hours.

Even though Elijah had appeared calm on the outside, Klaus knew that there was a storm raging inside of his brother. It was no secret that you meant everything to Elijah. 'Always and forever' was the Mikaelson motto, their pledge to each other that come what may, family would come first, always, forever. You had become a member of that family a long time ago. Rebekah and Freya were not trying to find ways to bring you back purely out of loyalty for their brother, but because they cared for you like they cared for each other.

What the Mikaelson siblings felt for you could only be topped by Elijah's fiery love for you. Klaus had seen his brother fall in and out of love multiple times over the centuries. Lovers came and went as time progressed - an almost unavoidable process in the life of an immortal. Still, he had never seen his brother fall for someone in the same way that Elijah had fallen for you. He loved you deeply and openly and with an intensity that none of his previous matches had been able to ignite in him.

His brothers silence troubled Klaus, and he was not a man that was easily troubled. Paranoid, yes, but worries about his siblings usually rarely extended further than what consequences would brought about for Klaus himself.

This was different, though. Usually, Klaus was known to be the one to act out of blind rage, led by feelings and with little concern for the consequences of his actions. Elijah's moves were always more calculated and thought-through, the counterpart to Klaus' reckless nature. Even when it came to protecting their family, Elijah never acted on a whim.

And yet, Klaus couldn't shake the feeling that with your disappearance, all bets were now off the table.

He couldn't know, of course, how soon he would be proven right.

Elijah was teetering on the edge of madness.

Out of all the battles his family had fought throughout the centuries, all the hurdles they had overcome and obstacles they'd had to face - this one could be the one to tip him over the edge.

In all of his wretched time on earth, he'd had but two rules: family comes first, and do what must be done.

The latter was commonly a result of the first one. Elijah would stop at nothing to ensure the safety of his family, no matter the consequences. There was no such thing as a price too high to pay. If there was something, anything, that could be done to remedy a situation one of his family members found themselves in, he would find it, and he would get it done.

But what was there to be done now? What could he do, now that you were god-knows-where, lost to a universe that wasn't his?

There were no arms to twist, no men or women to bribe, no deals to be made or lives to be threatened. There was no one to blame besides Athea, that wicked scum of a witch, who was already dead, having succumb to her own spell that took you from him.

He'd have his sister bring her back to life if they could, if not to reverse the spell, then to rip her apart limb by limb, slower and more painful than her previous death. He had wished for her death so many times before in the previous months, but now, it just wasn't enough. One death simply would not suffice for what she had done. This banishment, this punishment that you were now enduring had been meant for her. Against all odds, she had found a way to bring about even more suffering with her death. It was as much an insult as it was the superior move. They had been checkmated without ever even sensing the danger.

The most gruesome aspect of it all was his inability to do something about it.

Never before in his life had Elijah ever felt so useless, so powerless, so completely and absolutely helpless.

So he did the only thing he could do.

He drowned himself in whiskey and waited for his sisters to return. Maybe they would bring news. Maybe they wouldn't. Nothing he could do about it, but drink and wait.

And drink he did.

"Brother, wake up! They're back." Klaus' voice sharply cut through the hazy dream Elijah was experiencing. He found himself in the same place from the night before, where he sat down in front of the fireplace and drowned his pain and worries in as much whiskey as Klaus would supply. The glass still sat in his hand, its bottom caked by remnants of the dark liquid.

"Get on with it! I want to know what they have found. I'd expect so would you." The irritation in Klaus' voice did not go undetected, but Elijah didn't care, nor did he quicken his movements. His body was stiff from the hours it had spent locked in the same position and his head felt dull, empty and exhausted from the worries that had hounded him deep into the night and the alcohol he had consumed.

"Oh, for Christ's sake." The glass was ripped from Elijah's hand and he was pulled upright abruptly by the collar of his shirt. Despite his dazed state, Elijah's hand caught Klaus' wrist as quickly as his brother had moved on him. "Take your hands off of me, Niklaus, unless you wish to spend the better half of the next hour re-attaching them to your body."

Klaus arms went up in defense, paired with that god-forsaken, devilish grin his brother was known for. "Alright, alright, no need to be so prickly about it. Just get a move on so we can hear what they've got to say."

What they had to say was a whole load of nothing. Their sisters looked tired and defeated, and Elijah could tell from the second he laid eyes on him that they did not come bearing news, or at least the kind that could have lifted his spirits.

According to their studies, the simplest solution - reversing the spell - was out of the question, as the original spell had been worded in such a way that a reversal was impossible. This didn't surprise Elijah. After all, it had been part of why they had chosen this particular spell in the first place. Its irreversibleness was what had drawn them to it in the first place.

Since a simple reversal was out of the question, a new spell would have to be created to bring you back. This proved to be a difficult task on various levels. For one, a spell of such power had to be perfect down to the last syllable and its pronunciation. The slightest deviation or variation in pitch or emphasis could have a tremendous impact on the spell and its effectiveness, beyond things imaginable.

"It would need to be thoroughly tested to ensure full efficiency and to rule out possible side-effects. The whole endeavor could take months, if not more. Not to mention the amount of power it would take to conduct the tests. We would have to send something or someone to another universe, which on its own is a massive feat, and then bring them back. Even with all of you by my side, I don't know if it would be enough." Freya's voice was coarse with exhaustion. His sister was visibly spent. On any other day, Elijah would have ushered her to bed to rest. Today, he found himself indifferent to it.

"Well, that should not be a problem. What else do we have a little extra witch for?" Klaus spoke smugly from his side. "Where is she, by the way? Davina?"

"She left." Rebekah sighed and dropped into one of the arm chairs in the foyer. "And rightly so, as much as I hate to say it. I promised her to get Kol back, and now, we have yet another thing that takes precedence. Understandably so," she added with a look at Elijah, then continued. "Still, I don't know if we can count on her for this endeavor."

"We shall see about that. Kol is as much part of this family as is Y/N." Klaus spoke before Elijah could interject. It was an odd feeling, to weigh a brother against his girlfriend, but Rebekah was right: you took precedence. Kol was already dead, and yet, he was still there in the ancestral plane, making him closer even in death than you in life. It was the only acceptable option to Elijah, that you were still alive. If you died in another universe, entirely impossible to reach or protect... He pushed the thought away at once, unable to complete it.

"I don't know if Davina would see it that way. I believe her commitment to our family does not stretch much further than our beloved brother." Freya's voice had a sourness to it as she rubbed her face and sighed. "Even so, it doesn't matter. Until we know where precisely Y/N has ended up, it doesn't matter who we have on our side or not." The eldest sister paused for just a moment, seemingly gathering herself before continuing. "If we are able to create a retrieval spell - and that's a big if - it has to be tethered to a specific location. I'm no physicist, but from what we've gathered so far there is an infinite number of universes besides ours. The energy it would take to send the retrieval spell through each universe... It would have to be infinite as well. It's simply not possible."

Silence settled in the foyer as each of the siblings digested Freya's words. Elijah pressed his hands into fists. Your rescue slipped further out of reach with each detail they uncovered. Would he ever see you again?

He dug his nails deeply into the palm of his palms, unaware that he was drawing blood.

"Would it be possible to track me, if you were to send me after her?"

The faces of his siblings all turned to him at once.

"You cannot possibly be suggesting that we send you to a different universe as well?" Disbelief mixed with a hint of anger in Rebekah's face. It was enough to make the volcano that bubbled in Elijah erupt.

"And why not, sister? What would you have me do instead? Sit by and watch as you and Freya do all the work?" His words slowly rose to a shout and his legs started moving on their own accord, carrying Elijah through the foyer at a restless pace. "You cannot possibly expect me to idly stand by as the hours pass and we know nothing of her whereabouts. NOTHING!"

"Come on, let's find you a room and get you settled."

Whatever Jack had done, it hadn't take more than ten seconds. One moment his fingertips were gently touching your temples, and the next he'd dropped his hands from your face and announced that you were not, in fact, a witch.

Everyone in the room had relaxed a little at Jack's declaration, except of course for Dean. He'd just stared at you for a couple of seconds before he'd turned on his heels and had left the room.

"Here you are," Sam said and gestured around the room. "Bathroom's right through that door and you can put your things in that dresser over there."

Even though your motel room had been more spacious, this was clearly an upgrade in every way. The furnishing was sparse and functional - a bed, a nightstand, dresser and desk - but it looked clean and in shape, almost like the exact counterpart to the room you'd spent the previous night in. The motel room had been sucked dry by too many occupants, but this, this was a space waiting to be lived-in.

It was more than you could have hoped for. As far as you were concerned, you would have taken the couch in the library if you'd had to.

"Thanks, Sam. I really appreciate it."

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? I'll let you get settled in." He patted you on the shoulder and was almost out the door when you called him back.

"Uhh." You chuckled awkwardly. "I hate that I have to ask, because you've already done so much, but umh... Any chance you got some spare clothes laying around somewhere? It's just - I didn't exactly plan for a trip, let alone an interdimensional one, so... This is kind of all I've got."

He left with the promise to find you something for the night and before you knew it, you were in your new room all by yourself. It felt eerily quiet, the only sound coming from a clock above the door to the hallway, and you realized it was the first time you were on your own since you first ran into Dean and Castiel.

It was kind of nice. The past 24 hours felt like a whirlwind and the sudden quiet was almost soothing, if it wasn't for the tight knot in your chest. You had first felt it when the realization dropped that the spell had gone wrong, and it had only tightened since. Meeting Dean and Castiel had been distracting and intimidating enough to temporarily distract you from the sensation, but that only made it more noticeable now that all of the distractions were gone.

You dropped on the edge of the bed and planted your face in your hands. The inner corners of your eyes were already stinging again, alerting for a fresh wave of tears, but you could only sigh at the prospect of crying yet again. You'd already spent so many tears, you were almost surprised you had any left at this point. Regardless, the first drops came quickly and you gave in with another sigh, letting the tears roll down your cheeks as fast as they would come. What else were you going to do anyway?

The answer was taking a shower, as it turned out just a few minutes later. As quickly as the tears had come, they'd quickly dried up to an occasional drop and a lot of sniffles, leaving you as a puffy-faced, snotty mess. Your whole face felt sticky and itchy and your body didn't feel nowhere near fresh either, so you forced yourself off of the bed and into the shower.

The first warm jets of water brought about another wave of tears, although this one tasted more of exhaustion and less of sadness and pain. You were no stranger to crying, but here, in this unfamiliar world, it seemed to be all you could do to process your emotions. So you let yourself cry into the steady water stream for as long as your body needed to while still taking care of yourself. The tears rolled as you shampooed your head and they shook your body as you lathered it in shower gel, but they subsided into small little sobs as you rinsed yourself off, an occasional hiccup sneaking in and replacing a sob here and there.

By the time you were drying yourself off, your eyes were red and swollen, but you still felt miles better than before. There was a comb in the mirror cabinet above the sink, along with a toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as some generic deodorant. Just like the furniture of the room, the cabinet only held the basics, and you made a mental note to ask for sanitary products the next time you saw Sam. For now though, the few items would do. You brushed the stale taste out of your mouth that came with the fits of crying and then combed through your hair carefully, taking your time with the knots that had formed in the chaos of the last day.

Sam had apparently snuck into your room and dropped off a change of clothes on your bed while you had been in the shower. Whether they had spare stuff laying around or he'd taken a few things out of his own closet, you didn't know, but everything was a few sizes too large on you, save for the pair of underwear that was definitely a woman's pair and, miraculously, more your size. You were thankful for it all regardless. The clothes all smelled freshly washed and were quite comfortable thanks to their large size. Together with the shower, they almost made you feel comfortable. Almost.

A chair splintered on the wall, thrown with such force that its parts flew across the foyer. Elijah's chest was heaving, his breath shuddering as he forced himself back into a calm state. His sister's voice sounded from behind him.

"I understand your concern-"

Elijah flipped around and stared at Freya with fury. She raised her hands in return, but didn't retreat.

"-but even if we did use the same spell on you, I couldn't promise that you would end up in the same place as her. The incantation we used did not specific a specific place for the person to be sent to. You could end up in a different universe entirely and then you'd both be lost to us."

Elijah closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Once he was sure he could control his voice, he spoke quietly. "Do not suggest that she is lost to us." One hand was pinching the bridge of his nose, his other was held out in the air like a stop sign. There was a slight tremor in his arms, barely detectable to anyone non-human, and it was a clear indicator of how much strength it took him to remain calm in this moment.

Freya replied equally as quiet. "That is not how I meant it. All I meant to say is that I cannot guarantee that you will be sent to the same place she was sent to. The risk is simply too big."

Elijah's hands balled into fists again. "You cannot send me there, we don't know where there is, and we cannot get her back unless we find out where she is. Did I get that right?"

"...yes." The defeat was audible, despite the small word. Elijah sighed as the emotion carried over to him and flooded him from head to toe. He couldn't lose you.

"Elijah, we need some rest." Rebekah's hand found his shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "You know she means the world to us too, but we can't work on empty tanks. Let us recharge, then we'll go back to work."

It took a moment, but he eventually nodded. His sisters both briefly touched his back, an expression of empathy and comfort, then headed up the stairs to their respective rooms. Elijah stood for a moment, then straightened, a new destination in mind.

"And where might you be off to, brother?" Klaus asked from behind him. Elijah didn't turn around to reply.

"Do some research of my own."

Unsure of what to do, you strolled around your room. Sam said he'd be back for dinner, and while he didn't explicitly tell you to stay in your room, it felt like the safest choice. Despite Jack's okay on you and you seemingly having passed all of their tests, Dean's reaction had been anything but reassuring and you didn't trust the man not to slap some shackles on you the next time he saw you, so you decided to inspect your room instead.

The drawers were all empty, but the desk held a notepad and some pencils. For a lack of better things to do, you sat down and began to scribble down the list that you drew up in the diner.

Find out if magic exists in this universe.

Safe to put a check behind that. You couldn't exactly tell yet what kind of magic this universe held, but they did have rifts too, as well as ways to open them, even if they were different from yours. On top of that, they had angels, as well as a variety of other things apparently, judging by their 'tests'. So: check.

2. Find the spell that brought you here.

By some miracle, stumbling across Dean and Castiel had led you straight into the arms of knowledgeable men on the topic, and they seemed to have a large library at hand. Going by their hunter's profession, you bet some of these books would have spells in them.

3. Find the ingredients.

Depending on what number 2 on your list would reveal, it would likely also come with a list of ingredients needed to complete the spell. You just hoped it wouldn't be more difficult than gathering the materials had been back in your universe. They did say something about angel's grace... You'd have to ask them about that.

4. Find someone to perform the spell for you.

Well. It looked like you had your work cut out for you.

It was time to interview the Winchesters.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

Tag list:

@vicmc624 @foreverrandomwritings @imoompalumpa @wildernessflora @spnaquakindgdom

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@chochoooooo @haleym1234 @gigilovescatsx

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lamprophonia · 1 year

Text

》 [ yandere!Jock. ] 《

character intro. masterlist.

yan!jock x gn!reader: random prompts. 1393 words. reader referred to as 'you'. general yandere content warning that goes for all my works, but nothing specific here.

DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE.

author's note: was in the mood for a few random prompts. no real continuity between them, they're at different points within the larger relationship darling would have with elijah, i just wanted to write something slightly different than just headcanons :^) prompt list is linked to at the numbers.

☆ 23. "oh, don't worry, this isn't my blood. it's the blood of the person who touched you earlier today.”

at this point, you probably should have been used to the near constant presence of eastview's golden boy, following you around incessantly. still, someone putting their bag down and plopping down across from you at your library table made your head snap up.

you gave the visitor a cursory glance. unsurprisingly, it was him. elijah steele in all his glory.

surprisingly, or rather worringly, the front of his white t-shirt was spattered with reddish brown stains. blood. blood elijah didn't seem to be in any rush to clean or address in any other way as he just gave you the usual greeting of a nod and smile, pulling his books and his notes out.

you took out your headphones. "are you okay?" you asked plainly, not returning the greeting or the smile — your brows were furrowed in a concerned, confused, and almost stern look.

elijah's polite expression turned confused. "yeah? why wouldn't i be?" he chuckled. the look he gave you was one of intrigue with some sort of edge that felt almost patronizing.

"the blood," you responded, showing to the stains on his shirt.

elijah glanced down for a second, and his grin grew with understanding. "oh, yeah, i'm fine." he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "don't worry. it's not mine."

although he got back to doing his work without flinching, his statement made you pause. "what do you mean it's not yours?" you questioned, looking him over. the skin on his knuckles was split and also bleeding. not a good sign.

"i mean, it's not mine," elijah repeated and lifted his head to meet your gaze again. the condescension behind his smug little smirk was almost palpable.

"it's the blood of that asshole that tried to shove you around a few days back. you don't remember?" he chuckled, speaking as if the answer should have been obvious.

"excuse me?"

"you're excused."

"no, i mean–" you gave a exasperated sigh, "why is his blood on your shirt?" you questioned. elijah didn't seem to be bothered by your frustration. worse, the little shit seemed to be entertained by it, his smirk growing into a proper smile.

"because i beat him up?" again, he answered as if it should have been obvious.

"elijah– the– what? you can't–" you sputtered, your confusion outgrowing your concern. "you can't just, like, randomly beat people up." the words felt stupid coming out of your mouth. why were you being forced to lecture an adult on not getting into fights? this isn't some complicated rule of etiquette, it's normal behavior.

"oh, on the contrary," elijah shot back with a shit-eating grin. "i am perfectly capable of 'just, like, beating people up.'"

"elijah, listen–"

"in fact, i'd say i'm quite good at it."

"elijah–"

"probably the best in the school."

"listen–"

"besides," he cut you off for the third time in a tone so firm that it made you stop trying to get a word in and close your mouth, "it was hardly random. he cut in line. he shoved you. he deserved it."

elijah shrugged, and the two of you were left in a staredown. the guy from a few days back was rude, sure, but he didn't do anything worth getting his teeth knocked in, or whatever else the bloody knuckles elijah was sporting suggested he did.

you pondered leaving for a second, not really feeling the idea of just glaring at elijah in silence. unfortunately, he noticed your glance towards the door and his hand quickly moved to his bag, ready to grab it and follow you if you left.

little shit.

not like there was anywhere else you could study in... relative peace. "i'm not happy about this," you grumbled, ending the staring contest by going back to your books.

you heard him snicker as you were putting your headphones back in. "believe me, sweetheart, i noticed."

☆ 128. "just give it a little time! you'll get used to it, i know you will!"

the past few weeks have been interesting for you, to say the least. moving to a new high school in your senior year would have been an interesting enough experience on its own. getting confessed to by the most popular guy in said new high school would have pushed it over the top, especially since you were pretty sure he was the fakest person you've ever met.

now, to add further onto this truly fascinating experience, it seemed elijah steele did not take the hint when you rejected him. instead, he's been... shadowing you, in a very talkative manner.

he's been acting like the two of you were friends, even though you've had maybe two conversations with him — one of which being the one where you shot sown his advances and called him out on his fake demeanour, so, really, it is beyond you how he got besties from that interaction.

but alas, there he was. sitting down right at your table during lunch, as he has been doing for the past three days, with a smile that suggested he thought everything about this was perfectly normal.

needless to say, you thought otherwise.

"oh, holy fuck, look at him," elijah snickering breaks you out of your thoughts. you shake your head slightly, realizing that you were staring at him, and turn to where he's pointing.

it's another lunch table where a guy — one you know from some class, actually, although his name escapes you — is walking up to a girl — some popular senior who you only know from instagram stories and anecdotes from parties elijah insisted on telling you. her name is like alexandra or amelia or something else starting with a. the guy is looking nervous as all hell, which elijah seems to find hilarious.

"moron. he thinks he has a shot with her," elijah laughed quietly, his attention completely focused on the guy apparently trying to ask the girl — alissa? — out.

yours was instead focused on elijah. on how he looked at the small scene unfolding, how he nudged you in the shoulder as if this was an inside joke. how, despite his sweet demeanor with all his other friends, now he was eager to rope you into making fun of some random guy you might have chem with. or bio.

you knew he was fake, but the mean glint behind his eyes you were seeing now was making discomfort pool in your stomach.

"why are you here?" you blurted out without thinking and immediately regretted it when you saw how elijah's head snapped back to look at you. a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a hint of condescension behind it.

"what do you mean? why wouldn't i be?" he chuckled.

"we're not friends," you answered. your tone was a bit more harsh than intended, but the words remain true nonetheless. whatever. maybe a bit of harsh is what this situation calls for. "i don't like you, i rejected you. why do you follow me around?"

now, he laughed. "oh please, of course we are. besides," elijah leaned back a bit in his seat, his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed as ever. "i figured you could use someone to show you around."

"you know, since you're new and all that." he shrugged, conveniently avoiding the other two points you made. a good excuse, if there ever was one. one that fit perfectly into the sweet, golden boy reputation elijah held at eastview. one that did not fit at all into the patronizing look he was giving you.

"i don't even like you," you reiterated. "stop following me around."

he rolled his eyes, the smile not fading from his face for a second. "give it a few weeks. you'll get used to it. i'm not that bad, promise." he actually had the audacity to wink.

you gave an exasperated sigh. elijah, however, looked downright entertained by your frustration, not minding the glare you were shooting him.

you turned your head, searching for an empty table you could move to. behind elijah, the scene he called your attention to earlier was concluding. his prediction appeared to be correct — the guy was walking away from the girl's table, looking dejected.

unfortunately for you, the cafeteria was full. you'd have to settle for ostentatiously avoiding your tablemate's patronizing looks for the rest of the lunch period. not that he seemed to care, content to just look at you with an amused smile on his face.

#🏅 // e. steele #writing #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling

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klausysworld · 8 months

Note

Heyy soo um just wanted to ask if you were thinking about doing a part two for real Or if you were even open to it?

Hi, I've been thinking about possible outcomes for a second part.

I thought about a much darker/emotionally damaging storyline. Y/n could potentially seriously harm herself, Klaus could save her? Whether she survives or becomes a vampire is a question I've pondered. However if she became a vampire I feel that her self worth would deteriorate so much faster and I don't know how she would cope?

I also don't know if I want her back with Klaus. He hurt her so bad but he truly loves her so much. Like he would do anything to help her feel better, he loved how much more confident and happier she was becoming and he hates himself for the way she now looks at herself now.

I wonder if he could do enough to help her get better/more comfortable? Or maybe someone else would help her better.

I was thinking maybe Elijah? Whether it be romantic or purely platonic, I think that he could genuinely support her. Maybe if it was platonic he would somewhat help her and Klaus back together if we wanted this route?

Im not sure yet, I's love to hear all your guesses thoughts?

#klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #the originals #thanks for asking #part 2 #rues ideas #rue rambles

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slutisnotabadword · 3 months

Text

The idea of Elena and Elijah is actually becoming more appealing the more I think about it.

The maturity of Elijah kind of influenced Elena’s maturity as well. And we see this as she continues to negotiate with him in season 2, and even outsmarts him. Elijah has more structure and a focused mind than the Salvatore brothers have, and because he’s more focused, Elena’s head becomes clearer and she matures.

And as for Elena’s influence on Elijah, I think she kind of surprises him. It’s subtle, but I think Elijah enjoys witnessing her mind at work and ponders what she’s going to do next or what she’s going to negotiate next. It’s like watching an artist sculpt or watching a dancer freestyle.

Then again… I could BE trippin.

#the vampire diaries #tvd #tvdu #tvd opinions #elena gilbert #elijah mikaelson #elena x elijah

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 9 months

Text

Sunlight

Summary: A moment in time where you could've sworn that nothing ever could go any different between the two of you…

Pairing: Elijah Kamski x afab!Reader

Word Count: - 2.1k

Content Warnings: Fluffy PWP 18+!, Softdom!Elijah, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral (F Receiving), Edging, Slight Praise Kink, Begging, Implied Further Smut

A/N: I'm gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure 🥴 The Kamski brain rot has befallen me again! Massive thanks to @blueberrypancakesworld for motivating me in this endeavour 🫶🏻🖤

Follow-Up to Golden Cage but can be read as a standalone just as well.

Tagging: @spookyorchid @blueberrypancakesworld @herprivateisland

Each day, you'd rise with me

Know that I would gladly be

The Icarus to your certainty

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

Strap the wing to me

Death trap clad happily

With wax melted, I'd meet the sea

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

- Sunlight By Hozier

Around 5 years prior, on an early autumn Saturday morning, the time gradually moved closer to noon…

A quiet groan rolled over your tongue as you lazily opened your eyes just as much as necessary for your gaze to shoot a quick glance towards the alarm clock on the nightstand.

"Huh…" You noted, somewhat amused by the fact that it was nearly noon already.

"Hm?" A still halfway asleep Elijah behind you protested in a low hum as you turned around, tightly wrapped in his embrace.

"Good morning, sleepyhead.", You peppered the crown of his head with a wash of quick pecks, his cheek resting nuzzled against your collarbone, "I might as well start preparing lunch since we successfully slept through breakfast hours."

"Isn't that what the weekend is for?" Eli smiled against your skin, the stubble of his beard tickling gingerly.

For a brief moment, you tried to pull yourself out of his hug but quickly noted that Elijah had no intention of letting you go just yet.

"Nuh-Uh. Absolutely not.", He quipped, holding you down underneath the cozy cotton duvet covers right next to him, "Way too comfortable."

"Fair enough." A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gave in and led your fingertips to trace along his back, following the slight curve of his spine until they reached the nape of his neck.

"Hmhm…", Eli sighed contentedly, "Wanna stay in bed with you all day. No lab, no coding and no report writing today. Ordering in some food, maybe?"

"Please go on, Mr. Kamski, you have my attention.” The smile on your mouth turned into a smirk at his words whilst your fingers played with strands of his silken-straight hair.

“Well…”, It trickled from his lips in a sleepy chuckle, “May I propose a day of mindless leisure to Mrs. Kamski?”

“Hmhm, mindless leisure, you say?”, You clicked your tongue in a moment of play-pretend pondering, “I’m certainly not opposed to the idea.”

"Marvelous!" The halfway snorted-out cackle spilled from your lips faster than you could recognize.

"Marvelous?", You repeated Eli's exclamation, still snickering over it, "Alright, peepaw."

"Excuse me?" Elijah laughed out as well before leaning his head down a little further until his lips touched the curve of your breast to nip at the sensitive skin close to your nipple.

"Hey, don't you distract from that verbal atrocity!" It rolled right over your tongue as something in between a yelp and a choked-back sigh.

"Distraction? Nay, nay! I'm ready and willing to top that!", The words rumbled through Elijah’s chest in a chuckle, "My, my, how absolutely splendid for my lovely lady, my sun and my everything, to leisurely waste this day away with me."

"Oh, Jesus, fuck..", You groaned a little theatrically over the top, covering your face with both of your palms, "Time to switch to decaf because you gotta watch out for your blood pressure, gramps, maybe consider some Viagra, too."

"Ouch!", Eli mocked in return, his soft lips nibbling their path along the areola up to close down around your perked-up nipple.

His teeth, carefully scratching over the sensitive skin, sent urging jolts of rapidly rising arousal to shoot down amidst your thighs, the demanding pulse causing your hips to snap from the mattress in search of stimulation.

“Oh, c'mon, that's not fair.” You let your head loll back into the thick and feathery pillow as the sensation of his tongue swirling soft circles around your nipple fogged your mind, gradually chasing every coherent thought right out of it.

“I know, I know.” Elijah cooed in return, the warmth of his breath breezing over the damp patch of skin he left behind after letting the perked-up nub slide from between his lips again.

“Can't help myself but to get off on watching you go dumb with just the softest of touches, love.” The almost sore rasp in his tone went right through you as his words led you to clench your thighs together.

“You're such a sharp-witted and well-spoken menace at the lab but it all goes down the drain the second I touch you, doesn't it, babe?” You didn't need to see the sly grin on his face to know that it was there as his warm lips wandered back up over your collarbone until halting at your neck, kissing, nibbling and suckling at your flushed skin.

Instead of words, the only thing leaving your slightly trembling lips was a needy whine, a desperate mewl as you arched your back from the mattress, thighs still firmly pressed together to evoke just the tiniest bit of friction.

“Issok, babe, I'm gonna take care of that, don't worry.” Elijah hummed against your throat whilst nimble, slender fingers brushed along your hip bone, ready and eager to dip down between your legs.

“C'mon, want you to spread those beautiful legs for me, yeah? Wanna feel just how wet you are for me already, hm.” The tip of his nose nudged right against your pulse point playfully as you sensed a surge of heat wash over your face, somewhere between embarrassment and plain horny neediness that rendered you pliable to all his gentle demands.

A rush of heavy goosebumps erupted all over your skin as you gave in to the slight pull administered by the palm of his hand resting right at the curve of your thigh.

“There you go.”, Eli murmured in a soft tone, eager fingertips stroking the insides of your leg and creeping ever closer to where you needed him to touch you so desperately, “Good girl.”

“Please… it's too much, Eli, please!” You whimpered with a cracking, trembling voice, fighting yourself to not succumb to the need to simply jolt your hips forward harshly enough for Elijah’s fingers to inevitably touch your aching cunt.

“Uh-oh, need me to take care of that so bad, huh?”, He planted yet another kiss on your neck whilst his hand eventually slipped between your legs, fingertips parting your thoroughly soaked folds and gathering your arousal between them before stroking over your throbbing clit in slow circles, “Bet that feels better now, no?”

“Fuck…please, don't stop.” It rolled over your tongue in a breathless plea whilst your eyes fluttered shut at the sudden wave of electrifying pleasure spreading all throughout your body.

The sheere sensation of his index finger gingerly caressing you in carefully-paced strokes sent your mind reeling immediately as your muscles rendered warmer with every touch.

“I didn't plan on doing so anytime soon. Good god, you're fucking soaked, aren't you?” Elijah’s voice turned to a deep groan as he pressed his own body closer to yours, allowing you to feel just how much he needed to have you right now, too.

Wandering up from your neck, that was now peppered with countless little, purple-ish coloured hickey's, his teeth latched onto your jaw, scratching over your skin in a certain animalistic way that rushed straight down to your lower abdomen again, causing you to moan out into the bedroom which got gradually enlightened with the warm, early-afternoon sun. Not only was the warmth outside the windows rising but the heat spreading between your thighs just as well. It didn't take much for it to feel like eating you straight up, to burn you whole from the inside out and to completely overstimulate your senses. You're almost already sore nerve endings begged for Elijah’s gentle caress to push you past the threshold, to let the tightening coil in your stomach eventually snap but with the ever so tenderly paced flicks of his finger he held you right at the breaking point, kept your body balancing right on the edge until it rendered you stupid.

“Please, I'm so close, pretty please!” The desperate and impatient whine slipped past your lips as the muscles of your thighs started trembling.

“Nuh-Uh… calm yourself.” He shushed, a growing grin playing around his mouth as he withdrew his slick-covered finger from your pulsing clit and instead curled his entire palm to cup your cunt that was clenching and throbbing mercilessly around nothing.

“No, no, please. You said you wouldn't stop, please!” As the feeling of immediate stimulation ebbed away, you sensed frustration rising within your chest and struggled to hold back a downright pathetic sob that wanted to break its way free.

“Oh, babe, I'm not stopping…just pausing a little because I need you to calm down a bit. Don't want you to just cum on my fingers already, no.”, Elijah’s nose stroke along your cheek whilst his lips brushed towards your earlobe, his hot breath against your skin making you shiver, “I'd much rather taste you, love, feel you gushing all over my face.”

Just the mere thought of it and the way those words practically oozed out of his mouth like they weren't pure filth had you nearly choking on your own, already shallow breaths. You were desperate to hold yourself together, at least for a moment, whilst opening your eyes to Elijah shifting downward on the mattress, his mouth leaving a trail of quick kisses until he buried his face in your lap, a deep groan rumbling through his chest as his tongue darted out past his lips to lap at you like a man parched.

You felt the tip of his tongue gliding through your folds at ease, parting them until it softly nudged at your clit. With half-lidded eyes you watched him devour you, your gaze glued to the sight of messy strands of his hair slipping out from his loose ponytail, framing his face in a shade of blonde that appeared to be golden in the warm light beaming in from past the curtains.

“Fuck…” It fell from your tongue as you managed to lean your upper body onto your elbows for a better view because in the very second you moved and shifted, Eli closed his lips around your pulsing clit and started gingerly suckling, nearly forcing you to halt right there and then again.

It took everything in you to not just slump back into the pillows again, instead, you bit down on your bottom lip whilst pulling your thighs closer to your body. Elijah took the hint right away and hoisted your legs onto his shoulders, palms and fingers grasping around your thighs to keep you in place nice and tight whilst his mouth never paused pleasuring you.

He didn't need to apply anything besides the gentle, careful suction paired with tender flicks of the tip of his tongue for you to come close again, for the tension in your lower abdomen to tighten up anew. This time, you just silently begged for him not to pause, not to stop.

There was no doubt that Eli was aware of the way your thighs started trembling again, how you moaned out in steadily raising arousal as you felt the wetness oozing out of you and to your relief, he kept going, his tongue toying with your clit, stroking and nudging it, knowing how to get you off properly.

“ ‘M gonna…” You tried to utter, the words haphazardly passing your lips before one more tender lick of his pushed you past the threshold and sent your nerve endings into overdrive.

It felt like fireworks going off inside of your body with the muscles of your lower abdomen spasming in wave after heavy wave. The orgasmic epitome went straight to your head, eradicating everything for a split second before the pleasantly brutal, nearly numbing rush of hormones took over; serotonin and oxytocin jolting through your body like an electric current which eventually led you to fall back into the pillows underneath.

“There, there…”, Elijah smirked whilst shoving himself up back to you for his glistening lips to hover closely above yours, “How about we order some pizza now and I sit you down on my lap while correcting you on that gnarly comment about Viagra, huh?”

#elijah kamski smut #dbh elijah kamski x reader #dbh elijah kamski #elijah kamski x reader #elijah kamski #neil newbon #dbh #detroit: become human #detroit become human #detroid become human #elijah kamski x fem!reader #elijah kamski x afab!reader

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kasagia · 2 years

Text

Our little game pt. 5

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x witch! reader Summary: Klaus is making a major, huge mistake of his life, for which you are paying the price. Will you be able to forgive him? Or maybe it's too late for everything. Warning(s): angst, talk about death, Klaus fights and suffers because of Mikael, family drama, blood, violence, curses, I used some famous lines from TVD and TO Word count: 6,9k

Third person's POV | 2 hours earlier

The original hybrid left the party in a hurry, loosening his tie as he practically ran towards the parking lot. His younger brother was right behind him, barely catching up with him.

"Nik! Wait a minute!" Kol screamed, grabbing his brother's elbow and stopping him halfway. He completely ignored his hostile, stern look and continued. "We need to think it over."

"All we need to do is get rid of him from our lives once and for all!"

"We can't do it alone. We need Freya…"

"Freya will never stand against him! We're on our own unless you're a coward." the man cut him off, yanking his arm out of his grip.

"Well, let's at least take Elijah…"

"I'm not going to ruin our brother's wedding day! I already killed him once; I can do it again. We have to hurry before he calls for backup. Will you help me, or should I rely on myself?" Kol sighed as he studied his brother's determined face. If they had attacked out of the blue, they might have been able to defeat him together while he was still weakened.

"All right. But we're keeping Davina out of it."

"As well as Y/N." they nodded to each other and walked hand in hand towards the parking lot.

Klaus had to do it quietly. His little witch needed a break, and a fight with the Mikaelsons' psychopathic father wouldn't help her at all (or convince the woman to stay in New Orleans much longer than she planned). Elijah deserved a respite from his problems, and so did Rebekah. Nor could he rely on Freya's strength and power forever. After all, she wasn't immortal like them; she had her limits like any witch. Kol and he had to deal with it on their own. For everyone's sake.

"Do you even know how he managed to get back to the surface of the earth? I thought you killed him for good last time."

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are."

"You think it's the mother's work? She has regained her powers and is resurrecting all our enemies from the other side?"

"You tell me. You spent a few months there before we finally begged your witch to help us bring you back. What were our parents' moods?"

"You know, I tried not to get too close to them. But I met your father; he's actually a nice guy."

"What did you say?" he asked in shock, staring at his brother in pure surprise.

"Yeah, I was surprised too when he saved me from Mikael and introduced himself as your dad. We had a bit of a fight at first, but he turned out to be a good guy."

"You met… my father."

"Maybe it's not a good time, but I think you should know that. If he somehow magically appears here, and I'm pretty sure he'll do it; he's said many times that he'll get the fuck out of here as soon as he gets a chance, you shouldn't hurt him. Hope deserves at least one normal grandpa. Ansel would be a good fit for this; he was babbling about her all the time, and my head was bursting as he raved about her. You know I love her, but how much can you talk about a baby? Hey? Nik?" he shook his brother's shoulder as he sat silently in the driver's seat, not bothering to start the car.

"How did he know about Hope?"

"He's been keeping an eye on you since… you know. He probably knows everything about you, which is actually as scary as it is cute."

Klaus continued to listen to Kol's story in silence. As he drove the car, he pondered the new message. His father watched over him.

His real father.

The one who supposedly abandoned him and didn't care for him...

Could that be true?

Could he believe it?

Allowing himself to live a boyish fantasy of having a father who truly cares for him? He could believe that Esther would be able to lie to him about his real father's feelings toward him, and it was hardly possible that Kol could be so cruel. So, could Klaus have been so lucky after all?

Could he have had the love of his true father, the beloved daughter who was the light in his dark life, and the love and devotion of a woman he wanted more than anything in this world?

Could Klaus, after so many years of pain, sorrow, and fury, be given such enormous blessings?

He found out a few hours later.

He found out a few hours later, when he and Kol were returning as fast as they could to their family after Mikael nearly killed them two. However, it wasn't just the two of them in the car on their way back...

~•♤♤♤•~

"Father! Come, come wherever you are!"

It was supposed to go fast and smoothly. Klaus was supposed to act as bait (after arguing with Kol for several hours, they played paper, rock, scissors, and he lost… 10 times), and Kol was meant to heroically step in with a white oak stake and try to kill their father.

Piece of cake. Nothing possible could go wrong.

But it did. Very, very quickly.

They underestimated Mikael's ability to win people over. While Klaus was able to single-handedly take down his father's band of minions and come out of the fight uninjured, the fight against Mikael proved to be more of a challenge. Especially since he had a bit of an advantage over them...

"You're alone, boy? Did your siblings finally abandon you?"

"Don't worry about them. I don't need anyone else to help me send you back to hell."

"Very courage from your side to assume you can kill me all alone. Or stupid. I think the second one suits you much better. You didn't change at all, Niklaus. Thousand years, and you're still a quick-tempered, impulsive boy seeking the approval of others. I guess you've never learned from your mistakes. But it's even better for me. It'll be so easy to finally end your miserable life."

"Thousand years of trying, and you were never close enough. What makes you sure this time will be different?"

"This time, I know your weakness." Klaus' heart stopped for a moment in fear. He couldn't talk about Hope. His daughter was safe with Hayley, the pack, surrounded by Freya and Y/N with all sorts of protective spells.

"I don't have any."

"Don't you?" he looked at him carefully with a sinister smirk on his lips. "Then let me remind you. The blonde one, powerful witch you've met not so long ago. Y/N, right? Her blood must taste ambrosial with such magic running through her veins. She would make such a beautiful corpse, don't you think? "Klaus' composure dropped to zero, and his and Kol's plan went to hell. No one will threaten his witch, especially Mikael.

Without thinking, he lunged at the man, trying to punch him in the face. Mikael braced for his outburst, grabbed his fist, and twisted his arm. Klaus shouted, twisting his hand out of his grip, and pushing him to the boxes behind him. Mikael staggered, trying to regain his balance. The hybrid took advantage of this by throwing a metal rod at him and speeding towards him with the intention of snapping his neck. The older man grabbed the object flying towards him, pierced Klaus' side, and pushed, sending him crashing to the floor.

Klaus pulled the metal out of his body, but the wound on his side wouldn't heal. Suddenly he felt as if his whole body was on fire; every nerve in his body shot through with unimaginable pain. He felt as if his mother had put a curse on him, cutting him off from his werewolf side.

Suddenly, a circle of fire formed around him, and none other than the mother of the originals emerged from the shadows, muttering a familiar spell that began the 1,000-year search for the doppelgänger and the moonstone. Panic rose in him, along with the pain he felt.

NO! He couldn't go through it again!

"Who'll fight for you now, boy?!" Mikael shouted, walking slowly over to him and pulling a white oak stake from his coat pocket, patiently waiting for his wife to finish her spell and get rid of her unwanted son from their lives once and for all.

"I will." Kol stepped out of the shadows, pushing his father away from the circle where his older brother was trapped. Mikael laughed, looking at his son with contempt.

"I was wondering which of you would come to rescue this abomination. I never expected you'd be the first one to protect him. Wasn't he the one who locked you in a coffin for centuries? Will you defend him after what he did to you? You know best of all what he's capable of. Don't you want revenge? To see him suffer for all his sins against you? Join us, my son. Let's do justice to him together."

"Forgive me, father. I'm not on the retirement team." Mikael's smirk fell, and an ominous, dark look returned in its place.

"So you will watch your failure."

Mikael threw himself at his son in an instant, overpowering him. He turned his back to him and clamped his hand around his neck, forcing him to watch as his brother writhed on the floor in pain, occasionally getting close enough to the fire to sear him. Kol shuddered.

"In a moment, your mother will finish reciting the spell, and your treacherous brother will become nothing but a vampire again, and then... I will pierce him through before your eyes, son, so that you will remember once and for all how those who oppose me end up. Maybe then you'll join us."

"I'd rather die." Kol growled, trying to wriggle out of his father's grip.

"So you will."

And then, when everything seemed over for the two siblings and all hope of survival was lost, the appearance of one person changed the fate of the originals.

Suddenly, a wooden bolt shot out of the darkness of the building and pierced Esther's stomach, causing her to break her spell. The woman fell to the floor, screaming. Another wooden stake flew towards Mikael, who was forced to let go of Kol and catch the flying piece of wood before it hit him.

Klaus stopped shaking in pain, taking quick, heavy breaths. He used his remaining strength to look at his savior.

It couldn't be true…

"Get away from my son!"

Ansel jumped off the container, falling right in front of Klaus and shielding him with his own body. He held his crossbow high, aiming it at an angry Mikael. Kol stood beside him, handing him a white oak stake, which Mikael dropped and took out their weapons himself.

"I've already killed you once!"

"And I can already tell you that this time the ending will be different. Now, get out of here, or I will skin you for what you have done to MY SON."

"What can you do to me?! I'm a vampire, the original! Some weak werewolf can't kill me!"

"Be careful. That weak werewolf has many friends, and some of them..." Mikael and Esther cried out in pain as they fell to their knees on the floor. "Are very powerful witches. Touch my son again, and I'll kill you right away, without a blink. But for all of this, you've already done to him..." more bolts fired from his crossbow, wounding the parents of the originals. Most of them were aimed at the seething with anger Mikael.

"Kol. Take your brother out. I'll join you in a second."

"Are you sure, old man?"

"Yes. Just give me a few seconds." Kol nodded uncertainly to him, not wanting to leave Ansel alone with his parents at all. But the younger original carefully took his exhausted brother into his arms and carried him outside at vampire speed.

The werewolf took a few steps towards the kneeling two, firing the few bolts he had left at the man. Esther screamed shrilly beside them as the witches continued to torture her with their magic.

"I'll make sure you suffer in ways even your cruel, psychopathic mind can't imagine and believe me... a thousand years on the other side teaches great creativity and patience, Mikael." Ansel drove one of the stakes through Esther's heart and watched with satisfaction as the woman who had kept his only son away from him fell to the floor dead. "He'll suffer one more time because of you, and I'll make sure you don't get any peace even on the other side. I hope you understand."

"This whore of his will die before he gets to her! You won't protect him from that."

"We'll see. Again, please!" Mikael howled louder in pain as the witches strengthened their attack. Ansel smiled slightly.

Ansel left the warehouse, leaving the vampire writhing in pain behind him. He had more important things on his mind than torturing him. His son needed him, and he wasn't going to spend a single minute doing anything other than helping him.

After all, family was the most important thing. For always and forever.

~•♤♤♤•~

Kol drove the car, watching the two men in the back seat in the mirror. Ansel told him to get back to their siblings as soon as possible, especially Y/N.

The original had already learned on the other side that it was better to follow his orders. Ansel usually knew what he was doing, and after saving Kol countless times, he had the younger vampire's full trust.

Klaus could be a little more like him.

"What are you laughing at there, jester?" Ansel asked, looking up from his sleeping son and noticing the smirk on Mikaelson's face.

"Don't get offended, but he is nothing like you."

"I know, and I'm proud of him. He's his own person."

"Elijah will be delighted when you tell him that. Another believer in Nik's redemption."

"He is my son. Of course I believe in him and want the best for him." Kol's face morosed as he remembered how, just an hour ago, his father had tried to kill him and nearly ended his brother's life. "Don't make such a face. He is not your father. No father would make his child suffer. He doesn't deserve your attention, thoughts, or anything."

"But he's right about one thing. We are monsters."

"No. You're all lost. You may be a thousand years old, but really you are like children who have not been taught how to be adults. You know no other way to deal with your emotions than to succumb to this bloodlust. The worst of all is that you've allowed yourselves to be told that you are monsters when everything you do is out of your will to survive or strong feelings."

"A living ticking time bomb, eh?"

"If that's what you want to call it." Ansel murmured, shifting his gaze to his only son. Kol glanced at the two men in a car mirror.

Klaus will be damn surprised to see such a caring and tender look in his biological father's eyes. But he deserved it. After everything Miakel and Esther had put him through—what they all went through because of their parents—they deserved a normal, healthy relationship.

Kol would give anything to have someone like a werewolf for a dad.

"He needs you. Don't fuck it up." instead of admitting this childish desire to himself, he decided to warn Klaus' father.

"I'm not going to waste my chance, Kol. This is rarely: to come back from the other side."

"I'm still going to keep my eye on you. Especially around Hope."

"I would expect nothing less from you."

"Good. Wake up our princess. We're almost there."

~•♤♤♤•~

They expected it to be hard. Some hidden group of vampires and witches ready to attack at any moment, maybe a few deadly traps await them.

They wouldn't have expected the house to go up in flames. Vampires didn't usually die from fire... but humans did.

Klaus got out of the car the moment he saw the burning building. He didn't care that Kol hadn't stopped the car yet or that his newly found father was sitting right next to him.

All the original hybrid had on his mind was getting to Y/N as fast as he could.

He screamed her name and ran like a madman through the collapsing house. She had to be around here somewhere, unless she evacuated. The man did not allow even the slightest thought that his beloved could be trapped in the building, dead from the fire. He had to find her, lock her in a safe place, defeat Mikael, and return to his love, only to finally reveal his feelings to her and keep her with him where she belonged. There was no other way out of this situation.

However, Klaus, despite his best efforts, found someone completely different.

Katherine Pierce-Mikaelson lay unconscious among the collapsing ruins of the hall. Klaus stopped. Dark thoughts flooded his mind. How easy it would be to leave her here once and for all and let some stray plank fall and pierce her stoned heart. He shook his head.

Whether he wanted it or not, she was part of the family now. And he never left them behind. (Also, Y/N wouldn't approve of him leaving her friend to die. Elijah wouldn't be too pleased either.)

He took her in his arms and carried her out of the building. He laid her down on the grass, checking to see if she was injured.

"NIKLAUS! KATERINA!" Klaus raised his head, turning his gaze to his brother, who was running towards them. "Is she okay?! Where is Kol?! KOL?!" the elder brother rushed home after making sure his wife and Klaus were okay.

The hybrid caught up with him and grabbed his jacket, stopping him from entering the building.

"He is fine. Have you seen Y/N?" Elijah fell silent, looking away from his younger brother. Klaus grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to look into his eyes. "WHERE IS Y/N?!" he shouted, shaking him.

"Niklaus..." the hybrid didn't even bother to listen to him.

He let go of the lapels of his jacket and ran towards the collapsing building, but before he could get close to the fire, his brother caught him. Klaus tried to break free from his grip. They both fell to the ground, fighting until the younger original snapped the older's neck.

"NIK!" his sister's scream stopped him from going home again, he ran towards her. Rage and fear shone in his eyes.

"WHERE IS SHE?!" he shouted at the jittery blonde. He had to get to Y/N, and his sister's tearful, devastated face didn't show she was safe. His anxiety and panic only increased as he searched Rebekah's eyes for any answer.

"She... she is in our house." Klaus had never felt such need and blissful relief flood him so quickly. Unfortunately, it left him as fast as it came. "She is in transition."

The original froze. He felt as if the whole world stopped around him for a moment. The one thing Klaus wasn't sure how Y/N would take in their (then very likely) future relationship was her possible transformation into a vampire. Now that it was actually happening, Klaus worried what his beloved's reaction would be.

"What? But... how?"

"Our father's minions attacked the building. Elijah and I managed to escape in time and evacuate Freya. Katherine was supposed to join us with Y/N, but they never showed up. We went back into the building and found her with a metal rod in her chest. We thought she was dead, but Freya did some weird tricks on her, and it turned out she had vampire blood in her system. Your blood, Nik. I'm so sorry."

"They attacked Katerina. They snapped her neck when she tried to help Y/N. We need to find them and Mikael. They will die for what they did." he growled, preparing a very savage plan of attack in his head.

He would destroy those who hurt his love. They will be begging him to send them to hell quickly.

"Klaus! You knew that, right? That our father returned. Is that why you disappeared with Kol? You went to kill him on your own and you lost. You provoked him, so now it's our fault that Y/N is dead."

"YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MY PLANS WERE!" he shouted furiously. Rebekah had no right to say that when all he was doing was trying to protect Y/N and his family.

"THAT'S THE PROBLEM, NIK, IT'S ALWAYS YOUR PLANS AND NEVER OURS! And now Y/N is dead and it's all your fault!"

"SHE'S NOT DEAD! SHE WILL BE WITH US FOREVER AFTER TURNING INTO A VAMPIRE!"

"SHE WILL NEVER FEED!"

Her sudden statement restored complete silence, broken only by the sound of the burning house. Klaus quickly came to the conclusion that the sound of the fire burning in the fireplace, instead of bringing him relief and peace as before, would become the cause of his anxiety, a memory of the fear and horror he felt today. Another trauma for the collection.

"What?"

"She won't be one of us. She will die, Nik, and you will have the blood on your hands of the only person who has ever truly loved you."

"YOU'RE LIAR! SHE WOULD NEVER LEAVE ME!" he shouted, feeling the tears start to gather dangerously in his eyes.

"Are you sure?"

Klaus screamed, rushing furiously at his sister, but a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Be calm, son. Don't do something you'll regret. We'll go in turn. We'll kill Miakel first and then deal with Y/N, right?"

"And who the bloody hell are you?" Rebekah asked, eyeing the newcomer suspiciously. Especially when her brother hadn't ripped his arm off or maimed him after he touched him.

"Rebekah, this is my father... Rebekah!" Klaus screamed as the blonde vampire walked over to the older man and slapped him across the face.

"It's okay, Niklaus. I think I deserved it." Ansel groaned in pain, clutching his sore cheek.

"What do you want from him?" she growled, shielding her brother from him with her body. The Mikaelsons' experience had taught them to be careful in their dealings with their parents. They didn't have a very good experience. Klaus, on the other hand, rolled his eyes at his sister's protectiveness. If Ansel wanted to hurt him, he would have done so long ago; he certainly wouldn't have saved him from the clutches of death. Which didn't mean he trusted his father. He would have to deserve it and prove his good intentions to the sibling.

"I want to protect him. He's my son."

Klaus' heart beat faster. His son. It had been a long time since anyone had said that about him (he doubted he'd ever heard those words spoken with such pride and feeling). After all, Klaus wasn't made of stone. He could pretend his father's attitude didn't bother him, but he guessed they all knew how it affected the cruel hybrid. But before their big family meeting about Ansel could take place, they had to defeat their parents. And nothing unites and strengthens family bonds like hunting down their enemies.

"I threw the newlyweds in the car! If you've finished this dramatic scene, get your ass to the car before we all burn up from this fire, behind you, idiots!"

Maybe Klaus would have taken his father into the family after all. He would make a great replacement for his annoying little brother...

~•♤♤♤•~

Y/N's POV

I groaned as I slowly began to regain consciousness.

My head was bursting like hell, my throat felt like a desert, and the lights of the New Orelan lanterns that flooded into the room blinded me, causing me additional pain.

I felt like I had a huge, unforgettable hangover.

However, I don't remember much from last night. I guess I got drunk at the wedding faster than I thought and ended up in Klaus' bedroom again. At least he cleaned up after our recent… activities.

I slowly got out of bed. The world seemed to spin in my head. I closed my eyes, trying to compose myself. Suddenly, I heard an awfully loud jazz band playing in the streets of New Orleans. I swallowed, wondering who normal plays at night under other people's windows.

Someone entered the house with a bang, slamming the door mercilessly behind them. I hissed, clutching my throbbing head in pain. I've never had such a big hangover in my life.

Klaus came in covered in blood. Instantly, I felt the excitement flooding into my body, and my tongue moved to wet my chapped lips. I felt hotter in the room. My god, I fucked him only 24 hours ago, I couldn't be such a whore to him.

"Y/N." he sighed, standing stunned in the doorway. Well, he probably wasn't expecting me in his bedroom again.

"After all the noise outside, I can tell you didn't get rid of those musicians after all. Who did you fight? And please don't tell me it was Elijah." I asked, trying to control my sudden and unexpected turning on by the hybrid in the blood. Fucking hormones before a period.

"Noise?"

"Do not change the subject. With your super-hearing, there's no way you can't hear it." the man gave me a concerned look as he approached me. "Okay, I'm starting to worry. What happened to you?"

"Y/N..." he whispered, reaching for me, but I took a step away from him and wrinkled my nose.

"There's no way I'm letting you hug me or even touch me when you're covered in blood. Know my good heart, I'll clean you." I made a familiar flick of my wrist, but to my surprise, nothing happened… my magic didn't even move in my veins. I tried again, but nothing happened. I transferred my annoyed, hostile gaze to the original. What right did he have to lock me up in his house and block access to my magic?! "What the hell have you done to my magic?! Why did you keep it from me?! What kind of game are you playing right now?!"

"Y/N, I need you to calm down..."

"DON'T TOUCH ME! What did you do to me?! Why can't I feel my power?!"

"I'm so sorry, love."

"No… you can't just imply that… No." I shook my head in disbelief, unable to accept what he was trying to tell me. He must have been making cruel fun of me. But his painful, worried expression indicated otherwise.

"You're in a transition, Y/N."

"No, no, no. I can't! I didn't even drink a vampire's blood or die!"

"You drank from me last night, and today at the wedding, my father's minions disrupted the party. They started a fire and…"

"NO! You're lying! I can't be a vampire!"

"Y/N, please just listen to me..." he took a step towards me, but I backed away from him in panic, afraid to be so close to the man covered in blood... I could smell the wonderful, intoxicating smell of the red liquid on him.

"DON'T come closer. It is impossible. Are you playing some sick game, or is that some fucking plan of yours? A way to get me stuck here?"

"You think I'd stoop so low that I could do something like that to you? One of the few people I care about more than myself?!"

"You tell me. I don't know you."

"Do you really want to argue the same thing over and over again? When do we both know the truth?"

"I'm in transition, I'm scared, I'm angry, and I feel like my whole body is on fire with pain, and you're still able to bring everything back to our fucked-up relationship? You are an unbelievable narcistic psycho."

"Well, I know a very simple solution to your problems." he walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, leaving a bloodstain on the wood. He turned back to me, tossing me a bag of blood. "Drink."

"Are you crazy?! I'm not going to turn into that bloodthirsty thing that you are!"

"I've never heard such a beautiful compliment, love. Now. Drink. Before I pour it down your throat."

"You can't fucking make me!" I screamed, throwing a bag against the wall, which wasn't a good idea at all as its contents started to run down the wall, creating a small puddle on the floor. My gums involuntarily itched. My stomach rumbled as the delicious smell of fresh blood hit my nostrils.

I closed my eyes, sighing as I tried to control the overwhelming hunger. Klaus took advantage of my moment of weakness, coming over to me and enclosing me in a tight, strong hug. The smell of blood that covered him attacked my senses.

It was funny how his arms were both the only place that could bring me peace and make me fearful of the inner need caused by the vampire blood in my system.

"I can see how you are struggling and how persistently you are trying to overcome it. But why fight it? Why when you can get so much? Have you ever thought about the benefits of being a vampire? Your lovely, pretty face will never age a day, being able to dazzle others with its unimaginable beauty forever. All human diseases and ailments will disappear. You will be able to enjoy eternal life, discovering the mysteries and wonders of this world, even if not with me by your side, then with someone who will worship you until the end of this world. All you have to do is drink some blood and let us take care of you until you learn to control yourself. Is that such a big price to pay for eternal life?" he let me pull away from him a little so I could look into his eyes as he held me tight, desperately trying to convince me to stay alive.

"Who said it would be a happy life? That I'll learn to control myself and not go crazy or become a ripper? That I won't come back covered in the innocent blood of humans every night like you?"

"I must admit I'm a little offended, but I won't blame you for making such vicious accusations against me." he said it in such a tone that I laughed involuntarily, bringing a tender smile to his face. He could always make me laugh, even in the darkest of times. "It's the blood of Mikael and his minions; they definitely weren't innocent, love. Besides, I know you. You will not attack an ordinary man for your own pleasure. And even if you want to, I'll make sure you don't do anything stupid."

I got out of his grip, walking away from him to a safe distance. I might have been in transition, but of the two of us, the man was still the more impetuous. His reaction to my final decision may vary, and I prefer not to risk an untimely death by suffocation.

Besides, Klaus would never forgive himself for that.

"I can't, Nik. I won't feed." his calm facade dropped, and the desperation in his eyes and fear became more evident.

"Y/N just listen to me..."

"It seems like the only fair way out, you know? I helped you plan that stupid wedding; now, at least, you can return the favor by giving me a big, epic funeral."

"Don't even joke like that."

"You know, when Bonnie became sort of an anchor for dead supernaturals to find their way to peace or whatever it is, I couldn't believe at first that the dead actually went somewhere. It seems logical that after you've lived so many years with all these super powers, you just… die. No special effects, no second life, or another reality where there are other dead people. Now, I wish I believed in an afterlife, but I just don't buy this peace story."

"Vampirism is by definition an afterlife."

"I'd rather go into the unknown than live in pain." as if on cue, a sudden, painful spasm seized the left half of my body, causing me to double up... I thought I was beginning to decay from the inside out.

Klaus was near me in no time, holding me up. Fear and despair were painted on his face so clearly that I had to look away from him to chase away the remorse.

"The longer you wait, the more you'll suffer."

"Yeah. I think it's better this way. I mean, look at me. I'm gonna make a super-hot corpse. Perfect for an open casket..."

"Y/N."

"I want a huge party. Everyone has to drink themselves into oblivion and reminisce about all the happy times, funny jokes, or God knows what else. And don't let Kol officiate my funeral, because he'll definitely bring up that stupid story about drunk me flirting with you in a wedding dress or that you were my last fu..."

"STOP IT!" he shouted, interrupting me."I'll not entertain this kind of talk any longer. You must feed. I need you." he growled, glaring at me madly as if that had ever impressed me or worked on me.

He wanted a furious lovers quarrel? Here we go, I'll give him a fucking, last argument.

"This is not about you, this is about me! I liked who I was! I've spent my entire life being that exact version of myself! Years of hard practice and experimentation with my magic went for nothing. I'm nothing! I will never be who I used to be. It is better if I die as someone I'm proud of than live as someone I despise!"

"NO! It is better to live a flawed life than to waste it rotting in clay!"

"But that's not your decision to make." I whispered with tears in my eyes.

He thought I wanted to die? Leaving the love of my life when our story was just beginning? That I didn't want that fucking fairytale ending where the princess got her prince charming?

But I was never a Cinderella, and Klaus was no cut-off to be a prince on a white horse. And we had to accept this.

"Y/N..."

"I HAVE NOTHING, KLAUS! Without my magic, I am a meaningless shell of my former self. I will always be just a shadow of the person I used to be, unable to cast even the simplest spell or feel the fucking energy of plants! My immortal life will be one big void that nothing can fill!" I walked over to him, taking his hands. I didn't want him to leave. Since I was about to die, I didn't want to do it alone. But I knew full well that he wouldn't stay with me to watch me die, because if I were in his place, I wouldn't be able to watch him go away forever either. "I don't want to live like this, Nik. I can't stand such a pain, and certainly nothing is worth it."

"If you want to go back to the arms of death so badly, I won't stop you. I only hope the bugs will eat your rotten body soon, love." he growled, pulling his hand out of my grip, and he stormed out of the room.

"Klaus! Wait!" I shouted after him, trying to take a step towards the door, but I was too weak to move. I slumped to the ground, letting all my heightened emotions come to light and burst into tears as I listened as the hybrid left the house, slamming the door angrily.

This wasn't how it was all supposed to be.

Everything was meant to fall into place after the wedding, but my life was coming to an inexorable end, and my epic true love left me alone and ran away, hurt by my refusal to accept eternal life by his side.

Suddenly, I felt arms pull me into a comforting, firm embrace as someone began to stroke my hair reassuringly. I looked up. It was Klaus' father.

Klaus told me about it several times and even showed me one of the most traumatic memories for him—finding his biological father, pierced through and through by Mikael's sword. I spent half the night with him then, trying to distract his mind from his memories about his true origin.

Apparently, Ansel must have returned with the parents of the originals. He must have trusted him to let him into his mansion.

"All right. He will calm down a bit and come back to you, darling. He will not waste the last hours with his beloved on pointless wandering in anger around the city."

"I... don't want to hurt him. I just can't... I... was never supposed to become... It's all so fucked up." I sobbed, letting Ansel move me to Klaus' bed, so we were sitting next to each other.

"Try to understand him. The love of his life is dying, and while he could shove blood down your throat and save you, he can't do anything without your permission. He's powerless, and that's one of the few feelings my son doesn't take well."

"I don't think I can do it, Ansel. I don't want to be a vampire, but… I want him to be okay. He finally has some happiness and peace in his life, and I'm taking that away from him, making him unhappy again. If only I could turn back time and…"

"And do what? Never met him?"

"That would be best for him and his family."

"I think my son knows what's best for him. And I think..." he got out of bed, rolled up the carpet to get to the floorboards, and pulled out one board. He put his hand into the hole and pulled out a huge bundle of papers. He put everything back in its place and came over to me, handing me the package. "He discovered it himself a long time ago."

"What is it?" I asked, wiping tears from my cheeks, and (after wiping my hands on my dress) I took it from him.

"Something for you. Ah, these postmen! They always lose something or don't deliver it on time, don't they? I'll leave you with that for a while. I'll make sure you have some privacy." Klaus' father went out of the room, closing a door behind him.

A werewolf left me with the strange envelopes alone.

I looked at them distrustfully, not certain if I really wanted to open them. But my innate curiosity made me ask myself one important question all the time.

What was in them?

With trembling hands, I opened the first sealed envelope.

I'd recognize Klaus' practiced, beautiful handwriting anywhere. It's been haunting me since he sent me an invitation to Mikaelson's ball. After every little note he gave me, I could tell I was an expert at his refined handwriting. Thanks to this little obsession, after the first glance at the letter, I knew it was written by him.

Y/N, I have to admit, I'm a little offended that you're not answering my calls. Are you so busy with Mystic Falls stuff that you don't have time for old friends? It'd be nice to know you're alive, Klaus

My malicious witch, my nuisance, It's really awful of you to torment my poor soul. What have I done to deserve such a cold shoulder? Have your little friends turned you against me? If Rebekah and Katherine deserve weekly video calls, what do I have to do to have the honor of hearing your irritating voice? Stop with that attitude, or I'll show up in this musty hole myself, Klaus

A thorn in my side, a waking nightmare, I see you're ignoring me on purpose. I have to admit, I didn't expect such a game from you, but here you go. Want to play games? Expect me to be a willing participant. Let the best win, Klaus

My stupid little witch, Heretics will no longer bother you. Do not thank me. Put your life in danger for these morons one more time, and you will know my wrath, Klaus

My little tormentor, Have you cast a spell on me to think about you every night? Does this possession make me see you everywhere I go, only to be disappointed when I reach a person who is not you? Is this another one of your new tricks? Making me miss you awake and asleep? I swear I'll draw you into your own trap, Klaus

My lovely witch and the sweet bane of my existence, You win. I love you. Truly, madly, deeply. I dare you to come to me and get your price. Yours, Klaus

If it was possible, I cried more than before. Why now? Why didn't I find all these letters sooner? If only I had known about the letters sooner, now at least I would have had something to remember on the other side.

But the most important question was, did I really want to go to the other side, now?

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