I have I request/fic idea that’s kind of a flip on the usual. Reader & Elijah are dating and he can tell that’s she’s been holding something back when they have sex and is determined to get her to let go so he really pulls out all the stops. Reader is a biter, especially in situations she needs to be quiet (& maybe even a bit of a scratcher ie kinda claws at his back) but a previous boyfriend told it was weird so she’s super self conscious about it and is always a little distracted during sex fighting the instinct to bite him. Elijah succeeds and she latches onto that area between the neck & shoulder and turns out, not only is Elijah totally fine with it, he really REALLY likes it.
Bites
18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}
{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader}
You were afraid to bite him. Until he told you to do it again.
♡♡ hiii anon I love your mind && Happy day one of mikaelson week!! I've missed ya'll ~xo ♡♡
3.2k words - Warnings: smut, praise kink, riding, biting kink (the blood-free kind ... although Elijah absolutely wouldn’t mind...), overwhelmed reader, feral elijah && warm fire...
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering light across all of the ancient books lining the walls. Everything felt still and quiet, that kind of soft silence that only came when you were wrapped in warmth and safety. It was your favorite kind of evening, curled under a soft blanket on the sofa with your favorite person tucked close.
You still weren’t sure how you managed to pull a man like Elijah. You met a while ago, when he walked up to you like he already knew what you would say. All dark eyes and smooth charm, tailored clothes and quiet confidence. He had disarmed you instantly. From the first moment, you sensed something different about him. Though you didn’t know then just how true that would turn out to be.
And now, months later, here you were. Nestled against one of the oldest living creatures on earth, with his arm around your waist like it belonged there. He could have had anyone. And yet, he chose you.
You certainly weren’t going to argue.
A soft sigh slipped from your lips as you pressed in closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around both of you. You looked up at him, studying the familiar lines of his face in the firelight. His hair fell softly across his brow, his dark eyes tracking the lines of his book. But the way his hand moved, slow and precise, long fingers flexing just enough to remind you how they felt against your skin. That was what made your heart flutter.
Your gaze moved up to the column of his throat, the curve where neck meets shoulder. A place you kissed before many times, gently, reverently. But tonight, you didn’t want to kiss it. You wanted to bite it.
The thought hit fast and hot. You swallowed hard, shifting under the blanket as heat pooled between your thighs. It wasn’t the first time you had felt it. That deep, aching urge always crept in during quiet moments like this. When you felt content and safe around him, overwhelmed by love and want and intense feeling.
But just as quickly, shame curled through you like smoke. You shouldn’t want that. Not like this. It was too much. You were too much.
The last time you followed that instinct, let it slip past your lips in the heat of the moment, your ex hadn’t understood. He laughed. Pulled back. Shut down. Called you intense. In that tone people use when they mean something else. When they mean weird. When they mean wrong.
You pretended it didn’t hurt, but it stuck. It lived in you. Ever since, you kept that part of yourself locked away. Bit your own lip instead. Dug your nails into the sheets instead of skin. Avoided the feelings that threatened to swallow you whole.
And now here you were, held in the arms of the most perfect man you had ever known. Still too scared to show him the whole of what you wanted.
Elijah turned another page, but he hadn’t read a single word in the last five minutes. He could feel your body pressed against his side, warm and restless, your breaths coming shallower now. And he could practically hear the thoughts racing behind your silence.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched you from the corner of his eye, taking in the way your gaze lingered on him a little too long, the way your lips parted like you might say something, then thought better of it. Your breath caught.. just barely. But he noticed. He always did.
There was a flush rising beneath your skin, a certain tension in your frame that made his chest warm. You were trying so hard not to let it show. He could feel it in the way you tucked yourself a little closer, like you needed him to notice without asking. He found it very sweet.
He didn’t know what you were holding back, not exactly. But he could feel it, some small ache just beneath the surface. Something you thought you needed to hide.
He could wait. He would wait. But it was hard not to smile when you got like this. All quiet and shy…and clearly about two seconds from climbing into his lap.
His book was forgotten. His eyes were on you now, wearing that unreadable expression he saved for when he was studying something closely. Not judging. Just observing.
"W-what?" you asked, trying not to squirm. "You’re very distracting, you know that?"
Elijah gave you a small, amused smile. "I haven’t done anything."
"Exactly," you said, returning the smile. "You sit there looking like that and expect me to concentrate on anything else?"
He hummed, low and content, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. "I was under the impression we were just reading."
"I was trying," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed your skin. "Then your hand turned a page and my brain completely stopped working."
"That sounds serious," he said, voice dropping just a little, all low and velvet-soft as his fingers slipped beneath the blanket. "Should I be concerned?"
You giggled breathlessly just before he caught your mouth in a soft kiss. His hand trailed up your thigh, pausing just beneath the hem of your dress. Then, with careful ease, he dipped under the fabric. Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t pull away.
His palm slid higher, warm and steady against bare skin. He smiled into the kiss, then shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his lap. The blanket slid down, pooling around your waist as your knees braced on either side of his hips. He only broke the kiss long enough to lift your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties.
He hadn’t expected his evening to go like this. Elijah had planned to read, maybe kiss you once or twice and fall asleep with you curled against his chest. But now you were in his lap, bare and radiant, and all he could do was stare. The way your skin flushed under his palms, the way your fingers trembled as they touched him. It always undid something in him.
Your hands moved to the front of his shirt, fumbling slightly with the buttons. He didn’t rush you. He liked watching you like this. A little nervous, focused, so clearly wanting him. You got halfway down before he leaned in and kissed your jaw, a whisper-soft encouragement. You pushed the fabric back off his shoulders and down his arms, quickly tossing it aside.
His hand slid down your back, firm and possessive, pulling you tight against him. He was already hard, and the pressure of it beneath you made your breath hitch. He guided your hips with slow, deliberate movements, coaxing you to grind against him. The friction stole your focus, made your fingers tremble against his skin as the heat between you deepened, hungry and sweet and impossible to ignore.
You let your hands roam across his chest, drinking him in. His skin was warm under your palms, his muscles carved and defined. Your fingertips traced the ridge of his collarbone, slid up the curve of his neck, tangled in his hair. He felt like something meant to be worshipped.
You reached between you, breath shaky, and undid the fastenings of his pants. He let you, his eyes never leaving your face. You pushed the fabric down just enough to free him, and the second your hand wrapped around him, he groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest.
You stroked him slowly, deliberately, savoring the feel of him in your hand. The way he exhaled like you were undoing him. The way his fingers dug into your thighs, the ways his pupils dilated, making them somehow even darker.
The firelight flickered across your back, casting the two of you in molten gold. He leaned in, breath warm against your throat, and you tipped your head back as he kissed along your neck, his mouth open, tongue teasing. His hand moved between your legs, slipping beneath your panties and pushing the fabric aside.
His fingers teased you gently, not enough to satisfy, just enough to make your hips shift, seeking more.
"Go slow for me. Let it ache a while," he murmured. "I'll take care of you."
Your body trembled with anticipation, with need, and you bit your lip, stifling a whimper. He kept his touches light, too light, just barely brushing the surface, then a little deeper, circling and coaxing until your legs began to shake.
You tried to stay in control. Tried to hold back the part of you that wanted to claw, to bite, to take. The part that always felt too hungry.
But then he pulled away, slow and deliberate, and shifted beneath you. He pressed the head of his cock right where you wanted him most and held there, unmoving, letting the need twist hot and sharp inside you.
You held your breath as he pressed against you, and then, slowly, you began to sink down. You let out a quiet moan, savoring the stretch and the way his hands tightened around you, steadying you.
You started to move, slow and careful. Lifting just enough to feel the pull before sinking down again. Every motion was thick with wet heat, achingly slow. Sweet friction that built fire with every pass.
Your muscles burned with the effort of staying in control, and your heart pounded like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. Your nails digging into the sofa.
His hands slid along your spine, grounding you as he let you set the pace. But it was not enough to hold back the rush building in your blood.
It was too much. The pleasure. The pressure. The unbearable fullness of him, deep and steady, everywhere.
And still, you tried to hold it together.
Still, you held back.
He felt it in the hitch of your breath, in the tremble that started in your thighs and worked its way through you like a current. Your heart was a wild, beautiful thing beneath your skin. Fluttering against your ribs, echoing in his ears like a siren’s call. And your scent… god, the warmth of it, the way clouded all of his senses as you eased down onto him. It nearly undid him.
You were trying so hard to stay composed. He could see it in the tension at your jaw, the way your fingers dug into the leather behind you instead of into him. It made something sorrowful ache in his chest. You were holding back. Still afraid. Still unsure if it was safe to fall apart with him.
He wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to be. That he could take it. That he wanted it. Wanted you to be hungry, wild and unrestrained. But he didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t dare interrupt the soft, sacred rhythm you set.
One of his hands slid across your shoulder, fingers trailing down your arm until he found your wrist. He brought it forward, pressed your palm to his chest, his skin hot beneath your touch.
“Touch me,” he said softly, steady as a heartbeat. “You don’t need to hold back.”
Your pulse jumped. The warmth of his skin, the steady thump under your palm, was too much. Too intimate. Too good. Your other hand followed, splayed flat over his heart. His hands returned to your waist.
You moved again, hips rolling deep and slow. You arched into him, nails dragging red down his chest. The pleasure built and built. And still, it wasn’t enough.
Your body trembled, caught between the instinct to take and the fear of being too much. You kissed along his jaw... that beautiful jaw. Just a little bit of stubble, sharp enough to cut. You kissed along it, slowly, breathing him in, afraid and desperate in equal parts to sink your teeth in.
Your mouth lingered there. Open. Wanting. But not daring.
His fingers flexed at your hips.
"Take it," he murmured, voice wrecked. "Whatever you want. Take it."
And finally you gave in.
You sank your teeth into the curve where neck met shoulder. Not enough to break skin, not on someone like him, but enough to hurt. Enough to shake him.
Elijah’s groan was guttural, the sound of a man utterly undone. His head fell back, and hips jerked beneath you, a sudden, uncontrolled thrust, and your body clamped down around him so tight it made your breath catch.
“Fuck.”
He swore under his breath, more primal than polished now and his hands squeezed your ass, guiding your hips.
“Again,” he hissed. “Harder.”
Your chest clenched. No one had ever enjoyed your intense side. No one had ever asked for more. The shame that always curled beneath your ribs was gone, burned out by the raw need in his voice. He wasn’t tolerating it. He was loving it.
And you were helpless to resist.
You bit him again, harder, and the strangled sound that escaped him sent a thrill down your spine. Your hands were shaking, fingers pressed tight against his chest, and your heart was pounding, but everything else felt perfectly, blissfully clear.
"Yes," he breathed, and his hand slipped between you, his fingers stroking over the spot where you were joined, and then up, rubbing in insistent circles over your clit, "Yes, love, yes..."
You moaned against his neck, the sound muffled. It was too much. The feel of him moving beneath you, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his skin, the press of his fingers, his hand against your back. The sounds he made. That beautiful, wrecked voice saying yes, over and over again.
Your mouth was everywhere, rabidly moving along the line of his jaw, the sharp ridge of his throat, the flushed skin you already marked once. You bit down over and over, teeth dragging just enough to make him groan, filthy and low. You felt drunk on it, dizzy, like the whole world was spinning around you and he was the only thing that could keep you upright.
Your hips bucked hard, your rhythm lost, and he began to bounce you, lifting your hips and bringing them back down with a punishing force. Every thrust drove a ragged sound from the both of you.
“Elijah,” you gasped, already breathless, fingers curling into his shoulders.
“Again,” he growled, voice sharp now. “Fucking bite me.”
The command in his voice hit like a punch to the gut. A moan tore from your throat as you did, harder this time, the taste of his skin flooding your tongue. His pace increased, his whole body shuddered, and his cock twitched deep inside you as he cursed under his breath. He started moving you even faster, every thrust hit something perfect, something devastating, and your moans turned into broken little sobs.
Your hands scrambled for his skin, digging into his chest, his shoulders, holding on as you bounced in his lap, thighs burning, body slick with sweat and slick and spit.
“Look at you,” he gasped, voice gone completely hoarse, his dark eyes wide and wrecked. “So fucking sweet like this. Look at how you ride me…wild fucking thing-”
You didn’t even recognize the sound you made. You were too far gone.
It wasn’t even sex anymore. It was heat and hunger and something feral. You bit him again, just under his jaw this time, and he groaned, his hips losing their rhythm, and you didn't care. You didn’t care how loud you were, how your teeth tore at his skin, the way your nails left angry red marks down his chest.
The ache in you was so deep. It had been there for months, burning like an ember in your core. And now, finally, the fire was burning through you, scorching everything else away. There was nothing but this moment.
You came with a cry, body clenching down around him in waves, your whole body shaking, lips still pressed to his skin. You couldn't stop. You didn’t want to. You kept licking, kissing, moaning into his neck as the pleasure overtook you completely.
He followed you, voice wrecked and raw, hands still guiding you through it as he spilled inside you with a shudder that wracked his whole frame.
Slowly, the world came back. The crackle of the fire, the cool leather of the couch, the heat of his body, and the gentle press of his lips against your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.
Your limbs felt like lead, and all the air left your lungs in a shaky exhale.
"Holy shit," you managed, still gasping for breath.
"That is," he murmured, the ghost of a smile on his lips, "One way to put it."
You laughed, still dizzy, and collapsed against his chest. He pulled the blanket back up around the both of you, his hands smoothing along your spine, soothing you as your breath came in pants.
The fire had burned low. Most of the room had fallen into shadow, and the chill of the air was starting to creep back in. Without a word, Elijah shifted, carefully disentangling himself from the mess of limbs and blankets.
“No,” you mumbled, arms wrapping tighter around his middle. “Where do you think you’re going?”
He chuckled softly. “Nowhere far, sweetheart.”
You let him go reluctantly, flopping onto your side as he stood. And then … well. You definitely didn’t regret letting him go.
The firelight kissed every plane of his body in soft orange-gold. You watched as he moved to the fireplace, unhurried and utterly unbothered to be naked, every muscle flexing as he bent to adjust the wood in the hearth. Strong shoulders, defined arms and the curve of his back… he looked like he should be carved into stone. He didn’t even have to look at you to know what you were thinking.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking back.
“You’re naked,” you shot back, pulling the blanket up to your chin, flushed and smiling.
He gave the fire one last nudge and turned, smiling in that infuriatingly composed way. “So I am.”
He crossed the room with slow, easy steps, the light catching the curves and ridges of his torso. Your gaze drifted lower, and he laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “You alright?”
You nodded, blushing.
He climbed back onto the couch, leaning in to kiss you, long and languid. When he pulled back, you were grinning, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.
“Was that alright?” you asked, voice small. “I know I can get… in my head. And the biting thing, it’s…”
He shook his head and kissed you again, gentle and certain, as if to hush every doubt before it could reach your lips.
“My love,” he said, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “You are speaking to a vampire. You think I’d be scandalized by a few enthusiastic nibbles?”
You giggled, a little fluttery in your chest. He pulled the blanket closer, settling in beside you. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then down to your jaw. He continued like that, peppering soft kisses all along the line of your jaw until he reached your ear. “I meant what I said. I want all of you. Even the parts you think are too much. Especially those.”
Your heart clenched.
You peeked up at him again, shy. “Even if I want to bite you like… all the time?”
ellievsbear
vaporwave
pixelskylines
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
discoholicmusic
