“However, Lucius cared greatly for his wife and son and was one of the few Death Eaters who was capable of feeling genuine love. In the end, along with Narcissa, he demonstrated that his family was more important to him than serving Voldemort. Lucius’ love for Draco and Narcissa also allowed him to overcome his more cowardly side as he charged straight into the thick of battle during the siege on Hogwarts in an attempt to find Draco.”
Summary : You had been alive for over a century, yet you still remembered the moment you first saw him—Damon Salvatore. The reckless smirk, the way his eyes lingered a second too long, like he could see through every lie you told. He had loved and lost a thousand times before, but something about you brought out the man he buried deep under blood and vengeance. You were his possession, his obsession and his redemption.
Warning : Smut +18 (MDNI), Mentioned of blood (duh of course), Feeding at each other (i guess??), Tits playing, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sexs, Rough sexs, Edging, Dom!Damon, Size kink(?).
Damon Salvatore Masterlist.
Vampire Diaries Masterlist.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
The man’s blood still pulsed faintly on your lips as Damon stepped back, chest rising and falling with a hunger that hadn’t been satisfied by the feeding alone.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.
His eyes—black with desire, with the last traces of bloodlust—locked onto yours, and in the next breath, his arms were around you. One beneath your knees, the other at your back, and you were lifted effortlessly off the forest floor.
Your breath caught, but you didn’t protest. You only clung to his neck as he moved fast—faster than human eyes could track—through the trees, deeper into the woods. The world blurred around you, shadows and leaves streaking past like smoke.
And then, the cottage appeared.
Secluded. Hidden beneath a canopy of moss-draped branches, its stone walls aged and strong, windows flickering with faint candlelight like the place itself was holding its breath. You didn’t have time to admire it—not when Damon kicked the door open with his boot and stepped inside like a man possessed.
He didn’t stop to light anything.
Didn’t speak.
He pinned you against the nearest wall with a force that made you gasp, your back hitting the cool stone, his mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that stole what little breath you had left.
It was savage—hot, frantic, soaked in the taste of shared blood and repressed need.
You groaned, fingers tangling in his hair as your lips opened wider for him, welcoming the desperate slide of his tongue. He tasted like fire and iron, and something only Damon could taste like—ancient, reckless, intoxicating.
Your hips arched into him, shameless, and he growled into your mouth, his hands sliding down your sides with purpose. When he gripped your ass, hard, you whimpered, biting at his bottom lip.
“Damon—” you whispered, already breathless, already gone.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, chest heaving, his hands still gripping you tight.
“You don’t know what you do to me,” he rasped. “One look, and I forget everything else.”
“You built this place,” you murmured, trailing your fingertips down his chest. “For us.”
His jaw clenched, and something flickered in his eyes—something deeper than lust.
“You needed somewhere no one could find you. Somewhere I could have you without pretending we’re anything but what we are.”
You cupped his face with blood-warm hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones, your gaze softening for a heartbeat.
“And what are we, Damon?”
He leaned in again, but this time, the kiss was slower—just as hungry, just as deep, but full of something aching. He kissed you like the world had ended and you were the only thing left.
“Danger,” he said against your lips.
You didn’t answer with words. You answered with your body, pulling him closer, grinding your hips against him, making him hiss and slam his palm against the wall beside your head. Your lips moved along his jaw, down his neck, tasting the blood still on his skin.
“I want to ruin you,” you breathed. “The way you ruin me.”
His hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your lips part with a moan.
“You already do.”
And then he lifted you again, carrying you across the room, your legs wrapping around his waist. He kicked open the door to the bedroom—a space lit only by candlelight, shadows dancing across the walls.
The bed was low, wide, sheets dark and soft. When he laid you down, it wasn’t gentle. It was reverent. Urgent.
He hovered above you, his fingers trailing up your thigh, your side, your ribs.
“You looked like a goddess out there,” he whispered. “Blood on your lips. Fire in your eyes. Mine.”
“Yours,” you echoed, fingers tugging at his shirt, baring his chest to your eyes and mouth. “And you’re mine.”
He leaned down, brushing his lips to your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast with aching care—contrasting the wildness of his hunger with the slow, worshipful way he touched you now.
“I’ll take my time,” he said, voice dark silk. “I want to feel you come apart. Slowly. Over and over.”
And under the flickering candlelight, surrounded by silence, stone, and shadow, Damon made good on that promise.
The fire crackled somewhere in the background, but your world narrowed to the feel of Damon’s hands on your body—hot, demanding, possessive.
He pulled you into his lap without effort, like your body belonged there, like the weight of you grounding him was something he needed as much as he needed blood. Your legs straddled his thighs, your dress hitched up around your hips, and his eyes were so dark now they looked black—endless and ravenous.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at you for a long breathless second, as if memorizing the way you flushed, the way your lips trembled with anticipation.
Then he struck.
His fangs sank into your neck with a sharp, possessive bite—deep enough to make your back arch and a gasp rip from your throat. The pain was electric, but it melted into pleasure too fast, too overwhelming, and the moan that escaped your lips was pure surrender.
Your fingers clawed into his shoulders before tangling in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him growl against your skin. He sucked harder, his hands moving to your ass, gripping it roughly as he ground you down against him—forcing you to feel the hard, unrelenting evidence of how badly he wanted you.
You whimpered, the friction burning through your core, making your body jerk and tremble in his grasp.
“Damon,” you gasped, your voice shaking. “You’re—”
“Say it,” he growled into your throat, blood trickling down your skin. “Say what I’m doing to you.”
“You’re driving me insane,” you moaned, rocking your hips against him, desperate to keep up with the rhythm he set with his hands. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Damon finally pulled back, his fangs retracting as he licked the blood from your neck, slow and deliberate. When he looked at you again, your blood was on his lips, his mouth red and glistening.
“You taste like sin,” he said, voice low and thick with heat. “Like something made to ruin me.”
He kissed you again—and you could taste yourself on him, metallic and warm, mixing with his own flavor. The kiss was deeper now, rougher, his tongue claiming yours like he couldn’t bear any space between you.
Your fingers fisted tighter in his hair, pulling again—making him groan into your mouth, his hips bucking up against you in raw, aching need. You could feel how hard he was beneath you, and he wanted you to feel it. He made sure of it with every roll of his hips, every commanding squeeze of your body against his.
“Look at me,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to stare into your eyes. “I want you to remember who owns you when you can’t think straight.”
Your breath hitched.
The way he looked at you—like you were something sacred and wicked all at once—made heat bloom low in your belly. There was no room for fear. Not with Damon. Not when he made you feel like the chaos inside you was beautiful.
“I’m yours,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.
He cupped your jaw, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip, his breath warm on your face.
“Damn right you are.”
And then his mouth was on yours again, kissing you until your thoughts drowned, until all that existed was the burning heat of his body under you, the power in his hands, the ache in your spine from how tightly you clung to him.
He didn’t rush.
He made you feel every second.
Every motion was deliberate, every grind of his hips a promise, every kiss an oath wrapped in fire and blood. You could feel how badly he wanted to lose control—but he didn’t. Not yet. Damon wanted you right on the edge, trembling with want, breathless and begging.
And he would keep you there, hovering on that knife’s edge of surrender—until he decided it was time to fall.
Your fangs pierced his neck with precision—clean, sharp, deliberate. The moment Damon felt you sink into him, his whole body shuddered beneath yours. A guttural groan rumbled from his chest, low and primal, as though the act of being fed on by you unraveled something deep inside him he usually kept locked away.
His hands gripped your waist hard, fingers digging into your skin.
But he didn’t stop you.
He wanted it. Needed it.
Your mouth moved greedily against his skin, drawing his blood in slow, heavy pulls as if you were drinking in something far more vital than just his life force. You could feel the way his breath slowed with every draw, how his fingers twitched with restrained urgency.
Then—rip.
Your dress was torn apart in one swift, brutal motion. Damon didn’t care about fabric. He didn’t care about patience. He just needed to feel you, to see you—bare, exposed, and his.
He growled, deep and husky, before his hand shot into your hair, gripping it tight at the nape as he yanked your mouth from his neck. Your lips were slick with his blood when he crashed his mouth into yours again—hungry, bruising, all-consuming.
You gasped into the kiss, dazed and burning, but you kissed him back just as fiercely, tasting your shared hunger on his tongue.
Then in a blur, he flipped you.
Your back hit the mattress hard, and Damon followed, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. His weight, his presence—him—was everywhere, overwhelming in the best kind of way.
You could only watch him through hooded eyes as he looked down at your now bare chest, his gaze darkening even more.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “So fucking perfect.”
He didn’t waste time. His mouth descended on your breast, hot and demanding, and when he wrapped his lips around your nipple, your whole body arched off the bed with a strangled moan.
Your hands writhed in his grip, but he held you firm, anchoring you in place as his tongue dragged over the sensitive peak again and again, every movement making heat curl low in your belly.
“Damon—” your voice cracked, needy, breathless.
He groaned in response, the sound vibrating through your skin. He moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention—slow sucks, sharp flicks of his tongue—until your body trembled beneath him, flushed and desperate.
“You like it when I take my time?” he asked, voice like smoke against your skin.
“Yes,” you gasped, pressing your hips up into his, needing more, needing him.
“You want more?” he teased, dragging his mouth along the curve of your breast, his fangs just grazing your skin. “Tell me.”
Your lips parted, words caught between pleading and surrender. “Please. I want you. All of you.”
Damon released your wrists, only to trail his hand down your body with reverent, aching slowness. Every touch was fire. Every second, a reminder that he wasn’t just here to take—he was here to own every breathless part of you.
“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your collarbone, his breath hot and sweet with blood. “And you’re going to love every second of it.”
And in the quiet, candlelit dark, surrounded by woods and silence, Damon did just that—bit by bit, kiss by kiss—until your body and soul were tangled in his like roots beneath the earth.
The room was thick with heat, with the scent of blood, breath, and something darker—something that curled in your gut like smoke and sin.
Damon’s body hovered above yours, a low, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. Your skin still burned where his mouth had been, and your chest rose and fell with every trembling breath. But just as you tried to catch one—
You gasped.
His fingers were suddenly there, slipping between your thighs—deft and deliberate, two of them gliding through your folds before plunging into you without warning.
Your body arched immediately off the bed, a startled, desperate moan tearing from your throat.
“God, Damon—”
His groan followed yours like a harmony of hunger. His eyes were locked on the way your body responded—watching your lips part in pleasure, your back bow in need, your thighs tremble under his firm hold.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough and reverent. “Already dripping for me.”
He didn’t start slow. He didn’t tease.
He set a pace—one that was punishing, relentless, the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you filling the dark cottage like a siren’s song.
Your hand flew to his arm, gripping tightly, needing something to anchor you as he curled his fingers just right—just right—making your moans crack into near-whimpers.
“Fuck,” you gasped, your body shaking beneath him, your core fluttering around his fingers. “You’re—Damon—”
“I know.” His voice was low, smug, full of dark satisfaction.
He was watching you unravel, and he loved it. He dipped his head lower, trailing kisses down your chest, never once slowing the motion of his fingers as he curved them again, deeper this time—harder.
The angle made you cry out, your hips jerking off the bed, thighs spreading wider to chase the feeling. He took it as an invitation—one he’d been waiting for.
“That’s it,” he growled, his lips brushing your skin. “Open up for me. Let me see just how much you can take.”
You clenched around his fingers, hard, and the growl that ripped from his throat was nothing short of animal.
“Shit,” he hissed. “You feel that? You’re squeezing me, baby.”
Your name fell from his lips between gritted teeth as he pumped faster now, the wet, obscene rhythm a brutal contrast to the tender way his mouth moved across your skin. His mouth and hands—one devouring, the other dominating—worked in perfect sync, building the tension so tight it felt like your body might shatter.
You could feel it coming. That high. That edge. The unraveling.
“Don’t you dare come yet,” Damon said, his voice a velvet threat against your neck. “Not until I say.”
Your breath caught.
That commanding tone—his control, the way he knew you, knew your body better than you did—sent another rush of heat through you. You whimpered, desperate, trembling on the verge.
“Please,” you begged, your voice barely a whisper. “I—I can’t—”
“Oh, you will,” he growled, kissing your jaw, his breath hot. “And when I let you, you’re going to scream my name so loud the damn trees will echo it.”
His fingers curled again.
Deeper. Rougher.
You saw stars. And Damon? He never once looked away—his eyes locked on your every reaction like you were the only thing in the world that mattered and in that moment—you were.
Your cries echoed through the cabin like music made of fire and velvet, each sound pulled from the depths of you—raw, helpless, completely undone by the rhythm of Damon’s fingers as they continued plunging deep inside you.
He never slowed. Never softened.
The pace was punishing.
You were trembling under his touch, hips bucking into his hand without shame, without thought—just raw need driving every movement. The coil inside you had tightened to the point of pain, every nerve alight and screaming for release.
But Damon… Damon was calm. Focused. Watching you unravel with a predator’s gaze, every flick of his wrist deliberate.
His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider, holding you still while he watched your body clench and writhe.
His jeans were still on, but the hard press of his cock straining beneath the denim hadn’t gone unnoticed—by him or you. Still, he didn’t take his own relief. He was entirely focused on yours—and on denying it.
“Don’t come yet,” he growled, voice dark and thick with lust.
You sobbed, arching again, back lifting off the bed as his fingers curled deep inside you, dragging against that spot that made your vision white out for a second.
“I—I can’t,” you gasped, eyes wide, tears clinging to your lashes. “Damon—please, I can’t hold it—”
“You will,” he snapped, his voice a whip of dominance. “You’ll hold it for me.”
You whimpered at the sheer command in his tone, your body shaking with the effort. You were so close—too close. It felt cruel. It felt divine. It felt like him.
He leaned down, his breath hot against your cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“I love watching you fall apart for me,” he murmured, his fingers never slowing. “But I own your pleasure, sweetheart. You don’t come unless I say so.”
You cried out again, your body clenching around his fingers in protest, aching and swollen and soaked.
“Please,” you begged, breath hitching, your voice a broken whisper. “Please, Damon, I need it—I need to come—please.”
And then he smiled.
That wicked, beautiful smile that meant danger—and surrender. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
And with one final, brutal curl of his fingers, he growled, “Come for me.”
The permission hit you like lightning.
Your body snapped tight, then shattered. Waves of pleasure crashed over you so hard you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak—only cry his name as your climax ripped through you, a firestorm of heat and ecstasy.
Damon held you through it, fingers still deep inside, working you through every spasm, every aftershock. His other hand stroked your trembling thigh now, the gesture almost tender beneath the wreckage he’d caused.
“Good girl,” he whispered against your ear. “So fucking good for me.”
Your body melted into the mattress, limbs heavy, chest heaving. The world felt hazy, the high still pulsing in your veins like a second heartbeat.
Damon pulled his fingers from you slowly, watching the way your body fluttered around nothing now, still desperate for him even after he’d wrung every drop of pleasure from you.
He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting you with a groan that was half reverence, half promise. And even though you were boneless, spent, and shaking, you knew this night was far from over.
The air between you crackled—thick with heat, history, and the kind of love that only vampires could sustain for nearly a decade without ever burning out.
You were still panting from your release, the aftershocks making your limbs tremble, your body sensitized and open. Damon hovered above you, shirt long discarded, chest rising and falling with every heavy breath, eyes stormy and locked onto your face.
And then—you saw it.
The moment he slid his jeans down and freed himself.
You gasped, just like always.
No matter how many times you’d been here—beneath him, around him—you still felt your breath catch at the sheer sight of him. Your thighs instinctively pressed together, a nervous tremor running up your spine.
Damon’s hand was wrapped lazily around the thick length of his cock, and he gave himself a slow, deliberate stroke, groaning as he watched you take him in.
“Still gets you every time,” he muttered, a crooked smile pulling at his lips, that signature Damon smugness softening into something more reverent as he saw the way your eyes widened.
You licked your lips unconsciously. “It’s just…” You let out a small, shaky laugh. “I forget how… big you are until you take your jeans off.”
He chuckled, voice rough and deep. “Ten years and you still look at me like I’m going to break you.”
You swallowed, gaze flicking between his face and his cock again. “You do. Every time.”
That made something primal flash in his eyes.
He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, before dragging his lips slowly to your ear.
“Yeah?” he whispered. “And yet you always beg for it.”
Your skin burned, and your body—despite how wrecked it already felt—ached again.
He nudged your legs apart with his knees, settling between them, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His cock rested against your inner thigh, heavy and hot, and the way it twitched against your skin made your breath hitch.
Damon stared down at you now, no smirk on his face, just intensity.
“I’d never hurt you,” he murmured. “Even when I make you cry from pleasure. Even when I’m deep enough you forget your own name. You trust me, don’t you?”
You nodded instantly. “More than anything.”
That got you a kiss—slow, deep, a claiming.
“Good,” he murmured into your mouth. “Because I need to feel you around me. I need to hear you fall apart again. I need to remind you that no matter how many years pass, your body still belongs to me.”
His hand guided himself to your entrance, rubbing the thick head of his cock along your soaked folds, teasing—not out of cruelty, but because he wanted to savor it. To make you feel every second.
You shivered beneath him, already gripping his arms, your breath catching again as the anticipation built.
And Damon, ever the one in control, simply smiled.
“Deep breath, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice low and dark. “Because I’m not stopping once I’m inside you.”
You barely had time to catch your breath before Damon was there—inside you.
He sank into you with one long, slow, devastating thrust that filled you completely, your body arching up into his, a gasp tearing from your throat.
“Fuck,” Damon groaned, his voice gravel and thunder, fingers digging into your waist like he needed to anchor himself or he’d fall apart. “You’re still so goddamn tight.”
You whimpered, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming stretch, the way he split you open like the very first time. He was always too much—too thick, too deep, too perfect—and yet you craved it more than blood.
“Ten years,” he growled low in your ear, hips still pressed against yours, unmoving for a moment as he let you adjust. “Ten years of ruining you—and you still fit around me like this.”
He kissed you hard then, like he needed to take your breath just to breathe himself. Your lips opened for him, instinctual, needy, and the moan you let out was swallowed by his mouth.
And then, without warning, he pulled back—and slammed into you.
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, body jerking with the force of it. He didn’t give you a second to recover. Another thrust. And another. His pace was brutal, purposeful, setting a rhythm that had your mind spinning and your body shivering beneath him.
He grinned wickedly, loving the way you came undone so easily for him, even after all these years.
“Take it,” he rasped, voice strained from holding back. “You know you were made for me.”
You tried to answer, but the only sound you could make was a broken moan.
That’s when his fingers came—two of them, slipping between your lips. “Open,” he commanded.
You obeyed without question.
He slid them into your mouth, deep onto your tongue, groaning at the sight of your lips wrapped around them. “Suck,” he ordered, voice low and dark. “Pretend it’s my cock.”
You whined around his fingers, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, your whole body moving with every hard snap of his hips. His rhythm didn’t falter—deep, punishing, claiming.
“Look at you,” he muttered, staring down at you with reverence and heat. “Still my perfect girl. My good slut.”
Your heart stuttered at the words, and your mouth sucked harder on his fingers, your body responding to every thrust, every growl, every touch like it was coded in your blood to obey him.
And maybe it was.
Because no matter how many nights passed, how many times he pulled these sounds from your throat—you were always his. And you always wanted more.
Your vision blurred as Damon drove into you, again and again, never faltering, never slowing. Every thrust was brutal and precise—intentional—his cock hitting that devastating spot inside you with merciless accuracy. You cried out, loud and desperate, the sound echoing off the walls of the cottage as your body convulsed around him.
Your hands clutched at his shoulders like lifelines, but your grip kept slipping, your mind too hazy to hold on to anything but the way he felt. You were unraveling beneath him—bones trembling, breath caught, brain unable to focus on anything but the rhythm of his hips crashing into yours.
“Damon—” you whimpered, but it came out broken, drowned in the thick, overwhelming pleasure that had taken over everything.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t ease up.
Instead, he growled—low and rough, a sound so predatory it vibrated through your chest—and looked down at you with eyes blown wide and wild.
“That’s it,” he hissed, watching your every reaction like he was drinking it in. “Look at you. Falling apart on me.”
Your eyes fluttered back, mouth slack around his fingers still resting between your lips. Your tongue reflexively swirled around them, still sucking, obedient and wrecked.
“Fuck,” he groaned, a shudder ripping through him as he saw your eyes roll back, pupils blown wide with pleasure. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me right now.”
He thrust harder—deeper—and your back arched sharply, your moan muffled by his fingers. Your thighs quaked around his waist, your body so tight around him it drove him half-mad with need.
You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. You were completely consumed—by him, by the fire he lit in your veins, by the love that pulsed through every rough thrust, every growled word.
“You love this,” he murmured, voice thick with dominance and something dangerously close to awe. “Being under me. Taking me. Letting me ruin you.”
You nodded weakly, mouth still full, and he smirked at the sight.
“My perfect slut,” he muttered, pulling his fingers from your lips only to replace them with his mouth—kissing you hard and hungry, tasting the heat he’d built in you like it fed him.
You moaned into his mouth as he drove forward again, harder, unrelenting.
“You’re gonna fall apart,” he growled against your lips, a promise and a warning. “And when you do, you’ll say my name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.”
And the terrifying, beautiful thing was. He was right.
Damon didn’t let up—not even for a second. His rhythm stayed merciless, a brutal, pounding cadence that made your body tremble beneath him, your breath catching on every harsh, perfect thrust. But then—he shifted. A growl rumbled deep in his throat, and before you could register what was happening, he hooked his arms beneath your thighs and lifted—bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders.
The new angle made you scream.
Your eyes flew wide as his cock drove deeper, impossibly so, hitting a spot inside you that made your entire body seize in pleasure.
“Fuck yes,” Damon hissed through clenched teeth, staring down at you with dark, stormy eyes. “Look at you.”
You barely could. Your hands clutched at the sheets, your back arched high off the mattress, mouth open in a silent moan as your brain struggled to process just how deep he was now.
Then his eyes flicked lower, to your belly, and his expression darkened with something that looked dangerously close to reverence.
“Look at that,” he whispered, and you followed his gaze.
There—pressed firm against the skin of your lower stomach—was the clear outline of him.
The sight made Damon groan, a raw, almost unholy sound. He slid one hand down, spread his fingers wide, and pressed lightly on the bulge. “You feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice rough with wonder and possession. “That’s me. Deep inside where no one else will ever be.”
You whimpered, eyes glossing over from how full you felt, how overwhelming the pressure was—how much you loved it.
He didn’t wait.
He leaned forward, your legs still trapped against his shoulders, and slammed into you. You cried out, body arching hard, tears welling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.
“Damon!” you gasped, breathless and breaking.
“I know, baby,” he gritted, jaw clenched, the muscles in his arms flexing as he hugged your legs tighter against him. “I know. But you can take it. You always take it.”
His pace turned feral—deep, rough, relentless. Every thrust sent shockwaves through your body, lighting you up from the inside out. You clung to him in any way you could, needing something to ground you as your thoughts scattered and your vision blurred.
“You were made for this,” he growled, staring down at where your bodies joined. “Made for me.”
You couldn’t form words anymore, only broken gasps and his name over and over—like a prayer. And Damon? He kept going, kept slamming into you like he was trying to bury himself in your very soul.
Damon’s breath caught in his throat the moment he felt you start to tighten around him—so impossibly tight, pulsing, clenching, dragging him deeper with every desperate flutter of your walls.
“Shit,” he hissed, his voice raw and shaking with restraint. “You’re—” he groaned through his teeth, hugging your legs tighter around his shoulders, as if grounding himself through your body, “—milking me, sweetheart.”
You could barely hear him through the ringing in your ears, your body burning from the inside out as the pleasure built with terrifying force. His hand slid down again, fingers splayed wide over your lower belly, pressing just enough to feel every inch of him moving inside you.
“Right here,” he whispered darkly, staring down at the place where your bodies met. “You feel me? Deep inside. That’s mine.”
Your eyes rolled back as he gave a slow, hard thrust—just one—and it sent a shock through you like a lightning strike. But then he changed.
Without warning, Damon picked up the pace—savage, brutal, breathtaking. Your scream ripped from your throat, a sound that wasn’t just pleasure, but surrender. Your hands clawed helplessly at the sheets, at him, at anything that could keep you anchored.
“Damon—!” you sobbed, breath broken, chest heaving. “I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, leaning forward until your bodies were pressed flush, your legs crushed between your chests as he kept thrusting, kept chasing that place where you shatter. “You always take me. Every time.”
You gasped, overwhelmed, your release crashing into you like a tidal wave you never saw coming. It was blinding, searing—so intense it almost hurt.
Your body convulsed, trembling violently beneath him, every nerve ending exploding as the pleasure wrecked you. You cried out again, voice hoarse and cracked, barely breathing as Damon held your body still with a feral kind of strength.
“God, look at you,” he muttered, voice trembling. “Falling apart under me—so beautiful, so perfect when you come for me.”
His hand didn’t leave your belly—still pressing, still feeling how deep he was even as you convulsed around him. And all he could do was curse again, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something deeper than lust—something close to awe.
Because even after a decade of having you—ruining you, worshiping you, loving you—he still broke with you every single time.
And in that moment, as he watched your body twist in pleasure under him, he knew. No matter how many times he took you apart— He’d always be there to put you back together.
Damon didn’t stop. Not when your body trembled beneath him. Not when you gasped his name, already undone. And certainly not when your lashes fluttered, dazed and barely focused, your lips parted and glistening with the echo of your last cry.
He was chasing his own release now—driven, relentless, his movements wild and brutal as if something primal had snapped loose inside him.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” he rasped, voice heavy with grit and smoke.
You couldn’t speak. Only nod, barely. A breathless, soundless moan escaped you as his hips snapped into yours again—deep, fast, and devastating.
He glanced down at you, his lips curving into a dark, possessive smirk.
“Look at that face…” Damon chuckled low, his voice like gravel and silk. “So cockdrunk and sweet—like you were made just to take me.”
You whined when he shifted his hips just slightly—and then slammed into that spot again, that devastating place inside you that shattered every thought you had left.
Your scream echoed through the cabin, high and helpless. “Damon!”
That name—your voice—broke him.
He grunted, hard, and his hands tightened their grip on your hips like he needed to anchor himself or risk flying apart. “That’s it,” he groaned, slamming into you again, and again, every thrust faster, rougher, more erratic. “Scream for me.”
You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even think anymore. The pressure, the rhythm, the heat—it was too much. Your body shook beneath his, too sensitive after your last release, your cries dissolving into choked sobs of pleasure.
Damon leaned closer, forehead pressed to yours, sweat-slicked skin trembling.
“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled, almost like a threat, almost like a promise. “You want that, don’t you? Want to feel me deep—ruining you.”
You nodded frantically, lips brushing his. “Please…”
And that was all it took.
With a groan torn from the depths of his chest, Damon buried himself to the hilt—thrust once, twice—and then stilled, his entire body trembling as he spilled into you, deep and hot. His head fell against your shoulder, fangs grazing your skin as he exhaled your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to this world.
You both lay there, trembling, tangled, ruined.
And as his fingers traced your cheek—gentle now, reverent—he whispered into your skin: “You’re mine. Always.”
Tag List : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @hayleythecannibal @ceoofglytchell @ashblooddragons @laedeviour @venusbyline
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?”
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