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wholoveseggs · 2 months ago

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Dark Star {Part Three}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Three

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Klaus and Marcel hit a dead end searching for your killer. Until Cami offers a fresh perspective that could change everything. Kol uncovers a spell that might resurrect you, but the cost is steep. And centuries ago, under starlit skies, you surrender to a forbidden night with Elijah, binding your fate to his in ways that transcend time.

♡♡ It's finally time for some smuttt, ~ xoxo {Here is my playlist for the vibes} ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, first time, a bit of drinking, lots of religious talk, stargazing, so much sinning, Kol being Kol, Cami trying to help, a bonfire, dried fruit & magic mushrooms...

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss

It was almost the end of Cami's shift when Klaus and Marcel walked into Rousseau's, the former looking unusually grim. Cami was used to seeing them bickering and bantering, but the atmosphere between the two was tense and charged. They sat down at the far end of the bar, and Marcel leaned over, grabbing a bottle and two glasses, pouring the drinks with an air of forced casualness. Klaus sat with his shoulders slumped, a frown creasing his brow, his fingers tapping anxiously against the countertop.

"You have to pay for that," Cami pointed out, a teasing smile playing on her lips, her hands busy cleaning glasses.

Neither of them smiled back, their expressions serious, and the smile faded from her face. "Okay, what's going on?" she asked, setting the glass down and walking over, her gaze shifting between them.

Marcel hesitated, exchanging a glance with Klaus, before sighing. "It's about Elijah," he said finally, his voice low.

"How is he?" she asked, concern coloring her tone. He had been seeped in grief since your death, and it was hard to see him like that.

"Not well," Marcel replied, rubbing his temples.

Klaus’s hand wrapped around his drink, his knuckles turning white. "He won’t speak, eat, drink," he said, his voice rough, his anger barely contained. "All he does is sit by the window, staring into space."

"Can you blame him?" Cami asked softly, her expression mirroring the grief in her voice. You had been a light in the family, always finding ways to bring them together, and she missed you, too.

"No," Klaus growled, taking a large gulp of his drink. He set it down so hard that tiny cracks formed on the surface of the bar. "That’s why I have to find who did this."

Cami nodded, looking at Marcel. "Any leads?"

Marcel shook his head, an edge of frustration in his voice. "Nothing. All of my connections… they’re either too afraid to talk, or Elijah already found them first." He hesitated, then added, "Including every last member of the Strix."

Cami’s eyes widened, the full weight of the statement sinking in. "He killed… all of them?"

Marcel nodded. "Anyone he thought might be involved, he left dead. Half of them didn’t even know her name."

Klaus slammed his hand down on the counter, anger sparking again. "This is unacceptable," he hissed. "We have nothing but Elijah’s trail of bodies. It’s like the killer is a ghost… we don’t even have a description, not even a name."

"So… no witnesses, no surveillance," Cami muttered, trying to think.

"No magical trace, no scent," Klaus added, his voice filled with frustration.

Cami tapped her fingers against the bar, her brow furrowing as an idea formed in her mind. She braced herself, knowing Klaus wouldn't like it but deciding to speak up anyway. "What if… what if it wasn’t a member of the supernatural community?"

Klaus turned, his gaze darkening. "Cami… she died with a stake in her chest."

"So? I didn’t say they didn’t know about the supernatural, just that they might not be part of it," she countered, crossing her arms and meeting his gaze.

Klaus sighed, leaning back in his seat. "They broke her bones, Camille. All of them," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "A human couldn’t do that."

"A group of humans could," Cami replied, her gaze flickering between the two vampires. Neither looked convinced.

"Why would humans target her?" Marcel asked, skepticism lacing his voice.

"Why not?" She shot back, her eyes narrowing. "You feed and kill a lot of humans, Marcel. Maybe someone got revenge."

Marcel flinched, a flash of guilt in his eyes.

Klaus’s jaw tensed, his fingers tightening around his glass. "But why her?" he said quietly, his voice low and strained. "Why not go after me, or one of the others?"

"Maybe because she was the weakest link," Cami said gently, hating how it sounded even as she spoke.

Marcel sighed, rubbing his forehead. "It’s… not a terrible theory, Cami. Especially if we’re dealing with someone who had something personal against her."

Klaus's gaze shifted, staring into the distance, his expression troubled. "We’re missing a piece of the puzzle. I just know it," he muttered, his voice distant.

"Well, there is another option," Cami said quietly, an idea flashing into her mind.

Klaus turned, his eyes meeting hers with a slight challenge in them. "And what would that be, love?"

"Go to the police?" she suggested, her voice firm despite the tension in the air.

"What?" Marcel and Klaus blurted out, identical expressions of confusion and shock on their faces. Klaus began to laugh, his entire body shaking with mirth. "You’re hilarious, Camille," he gasped, tears of laughter streaming down his face.

"No, no, I’m not joking," she retorted, her expression unflinching. "You could talk to the police, tell them that your sister-in-law was killed. You could offer a reward, get them to really investigate."

Klaus and Marcel exchanged glances, neither looking keen.

"And what can they find that we can’t?" Klaus asked, his expression souring.

"Forensic evidence," Cami said immediately. "Traces that can lead them to the killer."

"And then what? They go to prison?" Klaus chuckled, shaking his head.

"If they’re human, yes," Cami replied firmly, crossing her arms.

"And if it’s not a human? How will the police catch a vampire or a witch?" Klaus challenged, his brow arching in skepticism.

"They won’t," Cami admitted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "But it's worth a shot?”

Klaus shook his head, his tone brooking no argument. "Absolutely not."

"Niklaus…" Marcel began, his voice trailing off when he caught sight of the fury in Klaus’s gaze.

"The only thing the police will do is get in the way," Klaus said, his voice cold and final.

"In the way of what? You aren’t doing anything," Cami shot back, her own temper rising. "Sitting here drinking and wallowing isn’t going to find who killed her."

Klaus rose to his full height, his anger flaring, casting an intense shadow over the dim bar lighting.

"Woah, woah, relax," Marcel interjected, sensing a fight brewing. "We are not getting anywhere arguing."

Klaus sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You can try it your way, Camille. Go tell the cops," he muttered, waving his hand dismissively.

"And you can go do whatever it is you do," Cami shot back, grabbing her phone from her pocket and speed-dialing the number.

Klaus watched her walk away, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, before turning to Marcel. "Have someone tail her. If she gets in over her head, intervene."

"What are you going to do?" Marcel asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

"Finish this bottle, then that one over there… and possibly that one," he said, gesturing toward the collection of bottles behind the bar.

Marcel sighed, lifting his glass and clinking it against Klaus’s. "You can count me in."

13th Century Europe

As soon as the sun began to set, you climbed out of your window, heart pounding as you crossed the convent grounds and took the path leading to the forest. Shadows stretched over the path, but you kept moving, quickening your pace to ease your nerves. You were going to meet Elijah, the thought filling you with both a heady thrill and a quiver of fear.

Ever since the day in the field, when he had kissed you, and you had kissed him back, everything had changed. He had begun attending church, sitting near the back during Mass, his dark eyes meeting yours, his gaze a gentle, knowing promise. After the service, he would linger, waiting until the others had left, stealing quiet moments with you, his hand brushing yours, his soft words dissolving your willpower. The guilt weighed on you, but the pleasure, the anticipation… it was overpowering.

Tonight was different. Tonight, you would meet away from prying eyes and listening ears, beyond the convent walls. The trees loomed before you, their branches dark and skeletal against the fading twilight. You took a shaky breath, then heard soft footsteps from behind. You turned to see Elijah stepping out from the shadows, his gaze warm and intense.

"I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind,” he murmured, his words wrapped in mischief.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied, a blush warming your cheeks.

He chuckled softly, the sound curling through you like smoke. “Shall we?” he asked, extending his hand. Without hesitation, you placed your hand in his, letting him lead you deeper into the forest. The last of the sun’s light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over the earth.

The excitement fluttered in your chest, but as you glanced back toward the convent, doubt slipped in, and you resisted the urge to cross yourself. As the night deepened, you reached a small clearing where moonlight streamed through the branches, illuminating the grass in silvery light.

“This is beautiful,” you breathed, looking up at the stars. They seemed brighter than ever, as if they had appeared just for you.

He nodded, pulling a blanket from his bag and laying it on the ground. He sat down, patting the space beside him, his hand beckoning you.

You sank down next to him, the warmth of his body soothing, calming the flutter of anxiety within you.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his lips brushing your temple. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," you replied, letting out a long breath, the tension leaving your body.

"Good," he murmured, his fingers trailing along your arm.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the feel of his skin against yours. "I can't believe we're doing this," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill through you. "Doing what?"

"Sneaking out," you said, smiling shyly.

"There's no sin in two people spending time together," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

“But there is a reason we’re hiding,” you replied softly, thoughts of the convent creeping in. “If the villagers knew…if Mother Mathilde knew…”

“Then let them know,” he murmured, though his tone turned more serious. “Life’s blessings should not be squandered in fear. Sometimes, it’s worth the risk.”

You thought of the sermons, the warnings, the fear of losing God’s favor. Yet, as you looked into Elijah’s eyes, something inside you rebelled, a longing to believe that this closeness, this love, was a blessing.

You distracted your trembling hands by digging inside your bag, pulling out some dried fruit, cheese, some wine you borrowed from the church, and a special treat you'd been saving. Elijah chuckled as he watched you lay the food out, a grin on his face.

"What?" You asked, blushing.

"You brought all of this?" He replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," you said, the flush in your cheeks deepening.

Elijah took a piece of dried apple, chewing it thoughtfully. "What is that?" he teased, pointing at some dried mushroom caps.

"Special mushrooms," you replied, your heart pounding. "They make everything feel more...real,"

"Oh, really?" Elijah asked, a playful smile spreading across his face, "Show me,"

Your hand shook slightly as you took a piece, placing it on his tongue. He closed his mouth, the muscles in his jaw flexing, a hint of a smirk on his face.

You took another piece, placing it in your own mouth, the earthy taste filling your senses. You chewed slowly, savoring the flavor, a warm, tingling sensation spreading through your body.

"And the church allows this?" he asked.

You shook your head. "They would be furious if they knew,"

"So it's a sin to eat these?" He teased, popping another one in his mouth.

"I think it brings me closer to God," you said, smiling.

"Mmm," he chewed, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Perhaps."

"Well?" You asked, the suspense too much to bear.

He swallowed, his gaze meeting yours. "Interesting," he murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You smiled, relieved that he seemed to like them. "Try the wine,"

He took the bottle, uncorking it and taking a long swig. "Not bad," he said, handing it back to you.

You took a drink, the sweetness coating your tongue, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your veins. The cold night air seemed to fade, replaced by a feeling of contentment.

You ate the rest of the food, the conversation flowing easily. You told him stories of the convent, the sisters, and your childhood. The world around you becoming a bit hazy, the trees moving with the wind, the moonlight casting a soft glow on the forest floor.

Elijah was a good listener, his eyes never leaving yours. He was charming and witty, his humor making you laugh, his presence making you feel safe.

As the night wore on, the wine and the mushrooms made you feel bolder, loosening your inhibitions. You were lying on the blanket, looking up at the stars, the night air cool against your skin. You curled up against him, feeling his warmth as you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Being with you, it feels right," you confessed, tracing patterns on his chest.

He hummed in agreement, his arm tightening around you.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of closeness, the sense of connection. It was a feeling unlike any other, one that filled you with a deep contentment, a peace you had never known before. You had searched for this feeling in God for so long, but it was Elijah who had given it to you.

"Do you see that?" he asked, pointing at a cluster of stars. "It's the great bear, it holds the brightest star in the sky,"

You smiled, watching the constellation, the stars seeming to dance across the sky. "Tell me more," you said, nestling closer.

"It’s a protector, a guardian watching over us.” His gaze lingered on the constellation, his expression distant.

You watched him, captivated by his words, by the passion in his voice.

"I used to look at the stars when I was a boy," he said, his voice soft. "My mother taught me their names, and their stories. I would sit with her for hours, listening as she told me tales of gods and heroes, of quests and battles."

"How very pagan of you," you teased.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "I suppose so," he mused.

You glanced up at him, seeing a hint of sorrow in his eyes. "Where is she now?"

"Dead," he said simply, his gaze fixed on the sky.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, a wave of sadness washing over you.

"It was a long time ago," he replied, his tone detached.

You sat in silence for a moment, the air heavy with sadness and regret. You had no family, none that you remembered, that pain had been dulled by the passing years. But his felt raw, still fresh.

He looked at you, a sad smile on his face. "I didn't come here to burden you with my sorrows,"

"It's not a burden," you protested, shifting to meet his gaze.

He smiled, the sadness fading. "Perhaps not," he murmured.

You began to shiver as the night grew colder, the thin fabric of your habit doing little to protect you from the elements. Elijah noticed, pulling off his cloak and draping it over your shoulders. The warmth of his body lingered on the fabric, his scent enveloping you.

"I'll build a fire," he said, rising to his feet.

You watched as he gathered the materials, his movements quick and efficient. You marveled at his skill, the ease with which he created the flame, the flames dancing across the dry leaves.

"Aren't you afraid someone will see?" You asked, worried about the smoke and the light.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "No," he replied, settling down beside you.

You felt the warmth of the flames, the cold night air forgotten. You looked up, seeing the stars again, the constellations shimmering above.

"I wonder what the stars are made of," you mused, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky.

"Hmm, perhaps the same things as we are," he said softly.

"Flesh and blood and bone?"

"Yes, and water and air,"

You nodded, a thoughtful expression on your face. "Do you think God is a star?"

He laughed, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. "Perhaps, it's a pleasant thought, isn't it?"

"Mmm, to think of him looking down on us, guiding us," you sighed, a contented smile on your face.

Elijah smiled, a melancholy look in his eyes. "That would be a nice thought indeed."

The two of you lapsed into silence, the fire crackling, the air thick with the scent of wood smoke. You sat curled up together, watching the stars and enjoying the night.

"Will you tell me a story?" You asked, glancing up at him.

He smiled, a look of surprise on his face. "A story?"

"Yes, like the ones you used to hear, about the star gods," you pressed, eager to learn more about him.

He chuckled and got to his feet, walking over to the fire and stoking it, sending sparks dancing into the night.

"There once was a great goddess, with many mortal children, who she loved with all her heart. But one day, one of her mortal children died at the hands of a beast, and the goddess was filled with grief. She set out to avenge her child, and in her grief she created a weapon, a blade that could cut through the very fabric of the universe."

You watched him, enthralled by his voice, by the story he was telling.

"With this blade she wanted to protect her children, but instead, she ended up dooming them. The goddess stole her children from death and sold them to time, who is far less merciful,"

He paused, his eyes glimmering with emotion.

"Now those children walk the earth, forever tormented by the knowledge that they will never die, and by the guilt of having brought so much suffering into the world."

You sat in silence for a while, the fire casting shadows on the trees, the only sound the crackling of the flames. You thought about his story, the weight of immortality, the price of defying death.

"Does it frighten you, the thought of an endless existence?" He asked, his gaze locking with yours.

"Yes," you admitted, feeling a shiver run down your spine.

"It frightens me too," he said, a grim smile on his face.

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

"I've never heard a story like that before," you said finally, your voice barely a whisper.

He gave you a faint smile. "It's an old legend, from my homeland,"

"What happened to the goddess? Is she still out there, somewhere?" You asked, curious.

He sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. "She was banished, forced to watch the earth from an empty place, an eternity of loneliness. Despair her punishment."

"That's awful," you murmured, feeling a sense of sadness wash over you.

"That's the fate of anyone who defies death," he said, his voice low and solemn.

You reached out your hand, beckoning him closer, the distance between you unbearable. He sat back down on the blanket and wrapped his arms around you, the warmth of his body soothing, the feel of his breath on your cheek comforting. You looked into his eyes, the dark, mysterious depths drawing you in, the flames flickering.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured, his fingers caressing your cheek. "Death will never touch you,"

"That isn't what I'm afraid of," you confessed, a blush creeping into your cheeks. "It's the idea of a life without you that scares me."

He smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Then we'll just have to make sure that never happens."

You laughed, the sound a mixture of joy and relief. Then you pulled him closer, your lips meeting in a tender kiss, the firelight casting shadows on the trees, the wind rustling the leaves.

You lost track of time, lost in the moment, in the taste of his lips, the warmth of his embrace. It felt like a dream, the flickering flames, the gentle breeze, the stars twinkling above. But it was real, and in that moment, you knew that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And what you wanted was pleasure.

"Touch me," you whispered, pressing your body against his.

"What would God say?" he murmured, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Let's find out," you breathed, kissing him again, the fire burning hotter, the night growing darker.

He pushed you gently onto your back, the blanket soft beneath you, the bright night sky above. His lips trailed down your neck, his fingers slipping beneath your habit, teasing the skin of your thighs. You arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips, desire pooling in your core.

He pulled away, his gaze burning into yours. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you gasped, desperate for him, for his touch, for the release only he could give you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, his voice strained, the desire clear in his eyes.

"You won't," you promised, tugging at the laces of his tunic, aching to feel his skin against yours.

"But you are an innocent," he murmured, a gentle smile on his lips. "I do not wish for you to regret this, not with me."

You cupped his cheek,"I will never regret being with you," you whispered, your thumb caressing his lower lip. "Never,"

He gazed at you for a moment, then bent down, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. Then he pulled back, removing his tunic, his body bathed in moonlight. Your breath caught in your throat and you reached out, running your hands over his chest, his skin smooth and warm.

He tugged at the hem of your habit, his gaze locking with yours. "May I?"

"Yes," you whispered, lifting your arms, allowing him to pull it over your head, exposing your bare skin to the cool night air.

He tossed the garment aside, his eyes roaming over your body, a hungry expression on his face. "You are so beautiful,"

"So are you," you replied, drinking in the sight of him, the lean muscle of his torso, the planes of his chest, the strength in his arms.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand trailing down your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He slipped his fingers inside your undergarments, finding your most sensitive place, his touch setting every nerve alight.

Why must sin feel so good? Did God give us this chance to feel pleasure just so we could resist temptation, or did He create our bodies so we could enjoy it? This felt like the latter, the way your body was reacting, the pleasure building with each stroke of his finger.

You moaned, clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. He pulled away, his breathing ragged, his eyes filled with desire. "Are you certain?"

"Yes," you whispered, pressing against him, craving his touch, his closeness.

"Very well," he murmured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, the look on his face making your heart race.

He shifted, sliding his hand down your body, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your undergarments, pulling them slowly down your legs. You blushed, the realization that you were naked in front of him, the vulnerability causing your heart to hammer in your chest.

He placed his hand on your inner thigh, his fingers parting the damp curls, his thumb circling your swollen nub, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you, the feeling unlike anything you'd experienced before.

You gasped, clutching at the blanket, the feelings he was creating within you overwhelming, your body responding in ways you didn't know possible.

He teased you, his touch light and deliberate, his fingers stroking and exploring, learning what gave you pleasure, what made you moan, what made your hips buck. He kissed his way down your body, his tongue flicking against the hard peak of your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, his mouth hot and wet.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, your need for him desperate. He kissed his way lower, his tongue tracing the curve of your belly, the sharp jut of your hip bone, his hands gripping your thighs, parting them, exposing you completely. You gasped, the realization of what he was going to do was shocking, thrilling, shameful, and yet so, so right.

He dipped his head, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his stubble tickling, the sensation making you gasp. He glanced up, his eyes locking with yours, a smirk on his lips. Then he lowered his head, his tongue finding the hidden place that ached for his touch, his fingers stroking, teasing, building the pleasure within you until it was almost unbearable.

Your hips bucked, your breath coming in gasps, his name tumbling from your lips, the word a plea, a prayer. His tongue licking and stroking, tasting and exploring, the sensation pushing you higher, the pressure building until it was too much, until you could no longer hold back, and you cried out, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, your body shuddering.

No, this wasn't sinning, this was heaven, and when you fell, it was his name you cried out.

He moved, his lips meeting yours, his body settling over yours, the hard length of his manhood pressing against your thigh, the feeling strange, yet exciting. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily, the taste of him sweet and intoxicating. He broke the kiss, cradling your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours.

"Ready?"

"Yes," you whispered, desire coiling within you.

He kissed you again, his tongue tangling with yours, the heat of his body enveloping you. He positioned himself, the tip of his manhood teasing your entrance, the feeling foreign and thrilling. He groaned, the sound muffled against your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as he pushed forward, the sensation a mixture of pain and pleasure.

You clung to him, burying your face against his shoulder, the fullness, the feeling of him stretching you, the pain slowly ebbing away, replaced by a different kind of ache, a desire to have him deeper, harder. He smiled down at you, his eyes filled with love, the look making your heart swell. He began to move his hips slowly, as he held you close, his arms wrapped around you.

You gasped, the sensation exquisite, every sermon about pleasures of the flesh were erased by the reality of it. The church had gotten it wrong, It wasn't about fleeting pleasures, like indulging in too much honey cake. It was about connection, the joining of two souls, the sharing of love and passion.

He held you like a precious thing, his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. You arched into him, matching his movements as he whispered your name, his voice hoarse and strained, his hands gripping your hips, his movements growing more frantic, his thrusts deeper, harder.

The stars above seemed to burn brighter, the fire flickered, and the forest became alive with the sound of night creatures and the rustle of leaves. The pressure within you built, the sensations becoming overwhelming, the tension almost unbearable.

You cried out, your body trembling as you reached your peak, the waves of pleasure coursing through you. He groaned, his body tensing, his fingers digging into your skin as he followed you, the world seeming to stand still, the night air thick with the scent of smoke, of earth, and the sweetness of pleasure.

The world came rushing back, and he rolled onto his side, pulling you close, his lips brushing against yours. You lay together, your bodies entwined, the sound of your heartbeat the only thing you could hear.

"I have never felt such happiness," you whispered, a smile on your face.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest, the sensation pleasant. "I'm glad I did not disappoint,"

You giggled, shaking your head. "You could never,"

"You are too kind," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You sighed, contentment washing over you. You gazed up at the stars, the vast expanse of the night sky making you feel small, but protected, sheltered in his arms. It was as if the entire universe had been created just for the two of you, as if nothing else mattered but this moment, the feeling of peace and contentment.

"You know," he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. "I think we can stay here for a while,"

"That sounds nice," you replied, nuzzling against his chest, the smell of his skin, the warmth of his body comforting.

He hummed in agreement, his hand stroking your back, the sensation soothing, the night air cool on your bare skin. The fire began to die down, and he rose to tend to it, the flames casting shadows across his body, the sight mesmerizing.

"It is strange," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow, watching him. "I never knew I could feel this way, so happy and peaceful,"

"Life is like that," he said, a thoughtful look on his face. "We often do not know what is waiting for us, but the path we follow leads to places we could never have imagined,"

You stood, grabbing the bottle of wine and walking over to him, your legs were trembling slightly and you tripped, falling into his arms, the red wine spilling over the both of you.

"Oh," you exclaimed, a blush creeping into your cheeks, his bare chest sticky with the sweet wine.

He chuckled, steadying you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"I see that the mushrooms are having an effect,"

"Is it that obvious?" you asked, blushing, the blush deepening when he laughed.

"I believe the drink is helping as well,"

You looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his hair messy, his skin flushed.

"I suppose so,"

You handed him the bottle, his gaze holding yours as he drank, the wine dribbling down his chin. You stared, mesmerized, the sight igniting a fire within you. You took his hand, pulling him closer, tasting the sweet liquid from his lips, the wine mingling with the taste of him. Then you pulled away as a strange thrill sparked within you, and you began to skip around the fire, laughing, your hair flying wildly, the stars seeming to twinkle brighter.

He laughed, his voice echoing through the night air, the sound making your heart race. He caught you in his arms, lifting you off the ground, twirling you around, the flames dancing around you, the night sky a canopy above, the fireflies sparkling in the darkness. You felt so wild and free, and you wanted to dance with him forever, to stay lost in the moment, the night a dream, the stars a song.

"You make me so happy,"

He gazed at you, his eyes filled with emotion, his expression tender. "As you make me, my love,"

You paused at his words, the weight of them sinking in, the realization that he truly loved you, that he felt the same way about you as you did about him.

"Elijah, I- I," you stammered, the words failing you.

"It's alright," he murmured, his lips grazing yours, his touch soft and gentle.

"I've never felt this way about anyone, I-" you gasped, the feelings too big for your words.

He smiled, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of closeness, of being wrapped in Elijah’s arms. But the reality of what you had just done, what you had been doing for weeks, began to sink in, bringing a wave of dread beneath the warmth.

“I’ve never known a life outside the convent,” you murmured, tracing delicate patterns on his skin, feeling the quiet pull of guilt. The convent’s walls, the endless rules, and the silent prayers suddenly felt a world away, and yet their shadow lingered.

“But now you have,” he whispered, his hand moving softly through your hair.

“What will become of me?” you asked, a tremor of fear slipping into your voice as you looked up at him. You thought of Mother Mathilde, of the church and their harsh lessons on purity and sin. The thought of facing them now, of explaining what you had done, made your heart pound with a quiet panic.

Elijah’s eyes softened, and a slight smile touched his lips. “We’ll go wherever the stars take us,” he promised. “The world is waiting for us.”

You bit your lip, a mixture of fear and excitement blooming inside you. The idea of leaving, of stepping beyond the safety of the convent walls, thrilled you in ways you could barely understand.

“Do you swear it?” you whispered, the question catching in your throat.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his gaze never wavering. “I swear it,” he said, his voice full of conviction.

"I love you," you breathed, the words tumbling from your lips.

He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "And I love you, more than the stars and the sky,"

You closed your eyes, resting against him, feeling a warmth unlike any other. Yet, as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, a quiet fear lingered. The convent, the rules, the life you had always known... They weren’t gone. They waited for you.

You had defied God, broken every rule. And you would face the consequences.

The question was, when.

Freya entered the courtyard, carrying a cup of blood, and found Rebekah already seated beside Elijah, her hand resting gently on his arm as he sat in silence. Rebekah’s gaze was fixed on her brother, her eyes full of worry, unwilling to leave him alone in his grief. Elijah didn’t seem to notice her presence, his eyes distant and hollow, fixed somewhere beyond the walls around them.

Freya approached, giving her sister a small nod before placing the cup beside Elijah. He didn’t move to take it, but his eyes flickered, betraying a glimmer of longing. His skin was ashen, his hair unkempt, and his clothes were crumpled and torn. It was a painful sight for Freya and Rebekah, both of whom knew him as the ever-composed, dignified brother.

“You should feed,” Freya urged softly. “I’ve added some herbs that might help.”

“I am not hungry,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

Rebekah squeezed his arm gently, glancing up at Freya with a look that conveyed her own helplessness. “She wouldn’t want this for you, Elijah,” she said quietly, her voice full of tenderness and sorrow.

Elijah’s gaze shifted slightly, the grief in his eyes so profound that Rebekah felt it cut through her as sharply as a blade. “Don’t,” he said, his tone hard, as if even hearing your name spoken aloud was more than he could bear.

Freya and Rebekah exchanged a silent understanding, both realizing that Elijah’s pain was too raw, too deep to be soothed. The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the weight of loss hanging thickly in the air.

“What did Klaus and Marcel find?” Elijah asked at last, his voice cracking, though he tried to keep it steady.

“Nothing so far,” Freya answered. “Not a lot of people left to question after-”

“After you dismembered most of the suspect pool,” Kol chimed in from the balcony above, his tone light, a mischievous grin on his face.

Elijah’s gaze sharpened, fixing on Kol with a coldness that might have made anyone else falter. Kol only smirked, strolling down the stairs to join them.

“You’re no help,” Freya hissed, irritated.

Kol grabbed the cup of blood and swirled it lazily, shrugging. “Not in your little murder investigation, no… But I do have something rather interesting to share.”

Elijah’s gaze flickered, the faintest trace of curiosity surfacing. “And what would that be?”

Rebekah looked up at Kol, her wariness evident. “What is this about?” she asked, her tone guarded.

“A spell,” Kol replied, setting the cup down and glancing between them, an almost devilish glint in his eyes. “A very old spell.”

Freya’s eyes narrowed. “Kol…” she warned, sensing where this was leading.

“A way to bring her back,” Kol said, his gaze drifting to Elijah.

Elijah sat up straighter, his expression a mix of disbelief and restrained hope. “Explain,” he demanded, his voice hard.

Kol’s smirk softened, his tone turning serious. “It's a spell that can bind two souls together, to form a connection that transcends death itself. A bond that can be used to pull a soul back into its original body, no matter how long they've been apart, no matter how many miles have stretched between them, or how deeply the grave has claimed them."

Elijah was on his feet, his eyes wild with a mixture of desperate hope and anger. "Why did you not come forward sooner?" he snarled, advancing toward Kol.

"Because I only just found the damn thing," Kol replied, not backing down. "It took months to translate the Latin, longer to decipher the incantation, and then I had to identify the ingredients."

Freya’s eyes narrowed. "Ingredients?" she asked, suspicion clear in her tone.

"Some of them are... difficult to come by," Kol said carefully. "And they require a rather unique skill set."

"Get to the point," Rebekah interjected, her gaze as cold and unyielding as Elijah’s.

Kol’s eyes flickered with a hint of challenge as he explained, "The spell requires a witch descended from a long and powerful bloodline. As well as a blood sacrifice, lots of blood."

"Human?" Freya asked, her expression hard.

Kol’s smile returned, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Oh, witch would suffice, or vampire."

"And this witch from a powerful bloodline? I’m guessing Freya can’t perform the spell," Rebekah said, her gaze sharp.

"You guess correctly, sister dear," Kol replied, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You’ve got a solution, and I’m not part of it?" Freya cut in, her tone incredulous.

"I wouldn’t dream of it, sister; we’ll need you. But this spell calls for more power than any single witch can provide," Kol explained, his gaze shifting between his siblings.

"Who do you have in mind?" Rebekah asked, her tone laced with suspicion. "Davina?"

“Absolutely not. My girl’s not getting involved in this,” Kol said firmly, his gaze hardening.

"Who then?" Rebekah pressed.

Kol’s grin returned. "Miss Bonnie Bennett, remember her? Lovely witch, very powerful, and quite capable of casting the spell."

"The Bennett witch?" Elijah echoed, skepticism in his voice.

"The very same," Kol said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "The problem is, we aren’t exactly on friendly terms. She won’t be eager to help us."

"What other ingredients do you need?" Elijah asked, his eyes boring into Kol.

"That's the tricky part," Kol sighed. "To pull her soul back, we need someone connected to her, someone who cares deeply for her."

"And?" Rebekah urged, sensing there was more.

“We need their heart,” Kol finished, his gaze flicking to Elijah. “The spell requires the heart of the person who loves her most.”

Silence fell as Elijah absorbed Kol’s words, his expression unreadable. His jaw clenched, the weight of the sacrifice sinking in, but he held Kol’s gaze steady. When he spoke, his voice was low and unwavering. "How soon can you get the Bennett witch here?"

"I'll go to Mystic Falls myself and fetch her," Kol replied, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"I'm coming with you," Rebekah said firmly.

"No," Kol shot back, his tone suddenly sharp.

Rebekah’s eyes flashed as she fixed him with an unwavering glare. "Why not?"

"You need to stay here, to take care of him,” Kol replied, gesturing toward Elijah. “We can't afford him going rogue again."

"I'm fine," Elijah snapped, his gaze hard.

"Sure you are," Kol quipped, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“Kol,” Freya cut in, her voice laced with warning.

"I won't be gone long, a few days at most," Kol said, looking between them.

Elijah’s jaw tightened, a flicker of conflict in his eyes. "Very well," he conceded, his tone resigned.

"Splendid," Kol said, his smile returning. "I'll leave immediately. I can make the flight tonight."

"I'm still coming with you," Rebekah insisted, her gaze locked on Kol.

Kol rolled his eyes, then relented. "Fine. Let's go,"

Rebekah nodded, rising to her feet. She placed a hand on Elijah’s shoulder, her gaze softening as she held his eyes a moment longer than necessary. “We’ll get her back, okay? No matter what.”

Elijah’s expression remained impassive, but when his gaze met hers, Rebekah saw a glimmer of hope… a faint belief that maybe, just maybe, you would return to him.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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aerequets · 2 years ago

Text

sugar, spice, and everything nice

ao3

rating: G

genre: fluff, humor

synopsis: After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?”

a/n: this is the first fic i'm posting that was not written in one sitting past midnight :D milestones yall! also i think the first fic which isn't twiyor centric? anyways i know some people love yuri and many, many people loathe him. i'm more on the neutral end, where i acknowledge he's a funky guy and if i ignore the weirder aspects of his love for yor and pretend its just intense attachment issues due to trauma etc then i think he's swell. i didn't really know how to write him since in the series itself he's used more as a plot device than anything else, and loid's view on him reflects that, so hopefully this doesn't feel too weird. also ending fics is hard im sorry 🙏🙏

anyways i've talked enough, one last thank you for everyone who leaves reviews and kudos, i don't get to respond to them but i do read them all and appreciate the love <3 enjoy

...

“Yooor!” Yuri sang as he shoved the door to the Forger residence open, bouquet of flowers in hand. “I got off work early so I decided to come… and…”

His voice petered out as he took a better look inside the apartment he’d just forcibly entered. The chihuahua girl and her polar bear of a dog were in the living room with some noxious cartoon blaring on the TV set. That damned Forger was in the kitchen, messing around with something that definitely didn’t smell good whatsoever. Most importantly, there was a glaring, offensive lack of Yor!

“Where is Yor?” He asked, accusingly pointing a finger at Loid who finally looked up from his work. “What did you do to her?!”

Loid’s eye twitched. What made Yuri assume he could just barge in whenever he wanted and find Yor waiting for him? “She got called out for a late night shift.”

“Don’t lie to me, you—” Yuri’s other senses finally caught up and he begrudgingly confirmed that whatever Forger was messing around with did smell good. Really good. And vaguely familiar? He sniffed the air deeply, trying to figure it out.

Anya looked up from her cartoons. “Are you acting like a dog, Unkie?”

“I’m not the dog here!”

Loid debated with himself as Yuri stood in the doorway, neither coming in nor leaving. The polite, Loid-Forgerly thing to do would be to invite him inside to wait for Yor to come back. That was what upstanding gentlemen, good members of society—far from the blacklists of the SSS— acted like; gracious, affable.

The thing was, he didn’t really want to.

He watched Yuri argue with Anya about dogs (“there’s an actual dog, and then you, chihuahua girl. I am a normal person!”) and groaned. Come on. What would Yor think if she heard Yuri came by and I turned him away? It would be no good if he displeased her. He had to do this for the sake of Strix.

“Would you like to come in?” He called from his spot in the kitchen, none too welcomingly.

(Doing it for the mission didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.)

Yuri was torn from his impassioned argument with a literal first grader. “Tch… I guess since I’ve brought flowers, I might as well put them in water,” he muttered. “No other reason!”

He came in. He split the gargantuan bouquet up into six different vases. He made some comments about how Anya’s cartoon was impossible according to the laws of physics. Then he just stood in the living room, trying—and failing—to act like he wasn’t peering at Loid’s activity in the kitchen, still loudly sniffing the air. Really, even if Loid didn’t have senses sharpened to a knife’s point, it would be difficult not to notice Yuri. To make matters worse, every time he turned back, Yuri would suddenly whip around and act like he definitely wasn’t loitering, the way they did in bad sitcoms. Is this the way the SSS carry out their own covert operations? he wondered.

Aside from Anya’s cartoon playing in the background, it was painfully quiet, the only sounds coming from Loid's activity in the kitchen. It seemed like Yuri wasn’t going to strike up a conversation, and Loid wasn’t inclined to, either. But then why is he just standing there?

After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?”

Yuri squinted at him like he was affronted at the mere notion. “Hmph. I guess I could.” The speed with which he made his way to the kitchen offset his haughty tone. He glanced down into the various bowls Loid had set out on the counter, one filled with sliced apples, another with some uncracked eggs, and a third with flour, sugar, and spices laid out, but not yet combined.

“Apples,” Yuri said, almost dumbstruck. He forgot to keep the scowl on his face as he picked up an aniseed from the third bowl and brought it to his nose. It seemed like he finally found what he’d been sniffing around for. “You’re making apple cake?”

“Close,” Loid said, surprised by Yuri’s flip in demeanor. “Apple streusel pie. Do you make apple cake?”

“Not me. But… this smell is…” Yuri mumbled, smelling the anise. “I don’t really remember, but this thingy smells familiar to me.”

“It’s star anise. And people often say that smells are stronger links to memories than visuals,” Loid offered. “Maybe it’s something you used to have.”

Yuri’s eyes widened. “Oh. Now that I think about it…” He held the aniseed up to the light. “I think Mom put this in apple cake once, on Sis’ birthday.” He cut a glance to Loid. “Apples are her favorite.”

Loid knew—that was why he was making apple streusel. But he was more astonished at the fact that Yuri brought up an old memory to him at all. Right now, with Yuri looking at the aniseed with an almost wondrous expression, it struck Loid how much of a kid Yuri was.

Yuri was only twenty years old. When Twilight was twenty years old, he was still new to WISE, training hard and getting his ego beaten down even harder. He’d thought he knew everything there was to know back then.

Could he blame Yuri for thinking the same way?

For the first time, Loid found himself regarding Yuri with something that wasn’t annoyance. Sure, the guy was more attached to Yor than superglue, but again, could he be blamed? He was a kid clinging onto the only thing left from his childhood.

Yuri turned to him with a grim expression. “I think I should take over this baking project of yours.”

Any feelings of tenderness were dashed in an instant. “What?”

“Apples are Yor’s favorite, and I know her best, so I should make the apple cake.”

“Apple streusel. ”

“Whatever!”

Loid resisted the urge to physically kick Yuri out of the kitchen. Don’t tussle with an SSS officer. Don’t tussle with your wife’s brother. Don’t tussle with a kid! “Are you forgetting the last time you came and destroyed the kitchen?”

“You may have won then, but I won’t back down from this fight,” Yuri hissed. Loid gaped, a headache building in his temples. Since when was this a fight?

“Is this round two?!” Anya’s voice suddenly piped. The two of them turned to see her standing by the counter, looking strangely excited. She’d abandoned her cartoons to stretch up onto her tiptoes to see the counter. “Papa versus Unkie?”

“We aren’t doing that,” Loid said at the same time Yuri declared “I’m going to wipe the floor with him.” They turned and glared at each other.

Bond trotted up to Anya and nudged her with his nose. She paused, turned to the dog, and then brightened up.

“I just thought of a way better idea,” she announced. “Let’s all bake for Mama together!”

“What?!” The evening was spiraling way out of control. All Loid had wanted was to make some apple streusel for Yor since she was working late so often and deserved a treat (because if she got too tired or fed up, it would reflect badly on their fake marriage). Now he was meant to bake with her hyperactive brother and his equally hyperactive daughter—two people with an entire lack of abandon in the kitchen?

“No way,” Yuri sniffed, and for once Loid wholeheartedly agreed—until he continued, “I'm gonna make such a good apple streusel Yor will forget why she ever married you."

“This is not your kitchen,” Loid said, patience evaporated. “You aren't making anything, not here at least.”

“What, are you scared?”

“I'm not going to argue with you about this—”

Anya sighed loudly and tutted as if she were an exasperated adult. “Mama will be happiest,” she said slowly, “if we all make it.”

That got both men to pause. Well, thought Loid, I am making this to cheer her up in the first place. Anya's not wrong…

Agh. If it makes Sis happier, then shouldn't I…?

Anya smiled in satisfaction. In the snippet of the future she read from Bond's mind, it seemed like everyone was getting along and Mama was smiling really wide, so Papa and Unkie had to stop fighting in order for that to happen. As fun as round two sounded, that future seemed better.

(Also, in that version of the future, everyone was too distracted and happy to notice Anya sneaking extra dessert. Double win!)

“Yay! What do I do?” Anya asked, eagerly hopping up on a stool. “Can I put the crumblies on top?”

“It's not time for that yet,” Loid replied. “Though you can help me make the topping if you want. Er, Yuri, if you want to get started on the custard, you can crack the eggs…”

“Right, eggs,” Yuri repeated before picking one up and smashing it into the bowl, shell splintering. Loid and Anya jumped.

“Not like that!” Loid cried.

“Even I learned how to crack eggs,” Anya unhelpfully supplied, leading Yuri's face to glow red. Loid felt a tinge of pity (he knew how Anya's words could burn firsthand) and cautiously asked, “Did you ever learn to crack an egg, Yuri?”

“It was fine to do it this way before Yor ate your food,” he mumbled in response. Loid was silent for a few seconds before turning to the fridge and pulling a fresh egg out. “This is how you do it.” He demonstrated over the bowl, noting how Yuri carefully tracked the movement. “Tap gently enough to make a crack in the shell. Then pull it apart like you're opening it. Yor learned this way too.” He threw the empty shells away before adding, “Not everything has to stay the way it was before, you know.”

A muscle in Yuri's jaw jumped, but he said nothing and instead set to cracking the other eggs, a little clumsy but decidedly better. Loid then got Anya to whisk the powders together ( “Gently,” he insisted, since it seemed Anya had some sort of floury vendetta) and he cut the butter in for the streusel topping. Yuri began haltingly asking for instructions on what to do next, which Loid was glad to provide.

Time passed like this, with Loid and Yuri slowly warming up to each other via baking. During the process of whisking, mixing, pouring and arranging apples, it seemed like Yuri forgot to be thorny with Loid, and Loid forgot to be cross at Yuri's presence. Anya, too, quickly forgot why she was helping at all and went back to watching cartoons, in wait for when the streusel would be ready for her to eat.

It was when a warm, cinnamon-sugary smell was filling the apartment and Loid and Yuri were cleaning up that the front door opened. Yor trudged in, tired and sore from the night's assignment and ready to collapse into bed. She froze upon seeing six fresh vases and a very familiar pair of shoes in the doorway.

The TV was playing one of Anya's cartoons, but the living room was void. Yor, weary and blood still pumping, immediately assumed the worst. Oh, no. What if Yuri came and got in a fight with Loid? What if he found out we're fake married?! Where's Anya? And—

She, too, had to pause and finally breathe in the mouthwatering scent hanging in the air. There was just something about it…

Abandoning all caution, Yor slipped inside, keeping her steps light just in case something really was wrong. But it smelled too good for there to be any real damage—was that sound logic, or was she just hungry? In any case, she made sure not to draw attention to herself as she poked her head into the kitchen.

“And for pots that have a lot of gunk in them, you can just boil a bit of water with soap and vinegar and wait till it foams. Makes it easier to clean,” Loid was telling Yuri. “Yor taught me that, actually—oi, Anya, don't open the oven yet.”

“Makes sense.” Yuri was scribbling something down in a notepad, punching down on the dots and lines. “I'll triple-star that one since it's a tip from Sis.”

“Is it ready yet?” Anya was alternating between excitedly jumping in front of the oven and plastering her face up against the glass. Bond, too, was sat next to Anya with his tail furiously thumping on the ground. “It smells sooo good!”

“It'll be just a minute. Come on, back up from there, both of you.”

Yor was so shocked at what she was seeing that she dropped her purse, alerting everyone of her presence. They all gawked at each other; Anya and Bond were the first to react, scrambling up from their spots.

“Mama! You're back!” Anya exclaimed, hugging her mother's knees. Bond barked and Yor pet his head absentmindedly, still trying to process what she was seeing.

“I am,” she said faintly. “Yuri…? When did you get here?”

“Sis!” Yuri said, also snapping out of his stupor. He sheepishly tucked his notepad away. “Um, a bit ago, I guess. I came to visit you, but you were out, and…"

“Did you guys bake together?” Yor asked, daring to hope. Yuri and Loid exchanged a glance before Loid smiled.

“He's a quick learner.”

"Loi-Loi is an okay teacher, I guess,” Yuri reluctantly added. “We made apple streusel. Do you remember Mom's apple cake?”

Yor inhaled, closing her eyes. The memory was fuzzy, but distinctly sweet, as if the taste of the cake remained. “Yeah. This smells really similar.”

“Yuri had the idea of adding cloves and cardamom,” Loid said. “It worked out quite nicely.”

“Yeah, it was my idea,” Yuri said proudly. Loid rolled his eyes but said nothing more on the subject. No wonder it smelled so familiar, Yor thought. She could hardly believe Yuri even remember the apple cake. Or that he'd shared enough about it with Loid that they were able to replicate some of it in the streusel.

Something warm and sweet was filling up in Yor's chest. Was it the sugar in the air? She breathed it in, cheeks apple red and sore from how widely she was beaming, previous tiredness all but forgotten. She hadn't realized how much she'd subconsciously wanted Yuri to warm up to her family before. Her family. His family now, too. It didn't have to be just the two of them.

“Ah—are you crying?!” Yor's eyes had gotten a little shiny, which naturally led to Yuri bursting out bawling. “I missed you toooo!”

The oven dinged and Loid pulled out the streusel as Yor joined them in the kitchen. As the adults got to chatting, Anya snuck around and victoriously stabbed a forkful of the piping dessert, blowing on it vigorously before chomping down. She grinned around her fork.

Victory was sweet.

#spy x family #spy x family fic #my fic #my writing #sxf #sxf fic #yuri briar #loid forger #twilight #agent twilight #sxf yuri #sxf loid #anya forger #sxf anya #yor forger #sxf yor #bond forger #sxf bond

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