Hi! Your Elijah one shot was so hot🤤. Literally died when I read it.
Could you do one where they’re kinda fwb (but both secretly having started to feel more) and Elijah is just kinda gone because he was daggered in the Salvatores basement, and reader has no idea why and is feeling shit that he’s gone but then he comes back??
Like, he comes to her place in the middle of the night, apologises, then fucks her brains out because he missed her and needs to release stress about Klaus being in town?? Or something like that. Idk, been thinking about how he was daggered when things were kinda chill and then waking up to the news that his brother is there
babe thank you for the sweet words and this excellent request!! i'm so sorry it took me this fucking long to write it lmao, i've been a total scatterbrain lately. anyways i thought it might be interesting to situate the reader character in relationship to the main cast but still outside of it somehow, so i took the liberty of giving Bonnie an older sister and i gotta say, i'm kind of sold on the concept? maybe she'll make a comeback in a second part sometime. hope you love the fic and so sorry again, enjoy <33
Elijah x Bennett f!reader - 2,6k words
Summary: Your casual relationship with Elijah takes a turn when he appears on your doorstep after ghosting you.
Tags: smut, angst, abandonment issues (whoops), praise, rough sex, p in v sex
You check your phone for the hundredth time today when you leave work. Nothing. You don’t care, you tell yourself, though the sting of it indicates otherwise. You have spent most of your life fashioning yourself into a person who can’t be hurt — it’s a necessity, but also a point of pride. The feelings you’re having now indicate that you’re not as invulnerable as you thought you were, so you elect not to examine them further.
This is all Elijah’s fault. Before him, you wouldn’t have been caught dead this desperate over a friend with benefits.
Your little thing with Elijah is, for all intents and purposes, practical; the first time you meet him, you give him the standard protective older sister-talk (‘anything you do to hurt her I’ll do to you’), and to your surprise, he gives his word not to touch Bonnie. You weren’t expecting him to be hot — Bonnie forgot to mention that part — and so the initial mutual suspicion quickly turns to flirty banter. He comes by the jazz bar where you work more evenings than not. Not because he particularly cares for jazz, you realize quickly, or even to press you for information about your sister, Elena, or the Salvatores — he’s there for you. It’s remarkable how quickly a natural truce forms between the two of you; you just have the kind of chemistry that facilitates it, makes bonding feel easy, like magnets pulling at each other. It doesn’t hurt that he makes it clear he thinks you’re beautiful.
Still, you’re surprised he takes it the entire way.
You let him keep you company while you close up one night, prolonging the space of time until you have to say goodbye. Then, on the way out, he kisses you, pressing you gently into the wall when you make it clear you’re into it. You turn to fucking jelly, just like that.
“Will you let me take you home?” he murmurs against your neck, fingers skirting the waistband of your panties.
Moaning, you try to move his hand to where you need it, like your strength could ever compete with his. “I can’t wait that long.”
“Naughty girl. I should punish you.” Even as he says it, he finally slips his fingers inside your panties, and your hips jerk.
He chuckles darkly, and you retaliate by gripping his erect cock through his pants; his responding moan sounds borderline pained. In the end, you persuade him to fuck you up against the wall. You can’t resist each other. Even playing field.
That’s all it is. Stress release, for the both of you, no strings attached.
Your sister does not approve, unsurprisingly; she wasn’t even supposed to find out, but her intuition is probably more potent than her magic. She comes by work to drop off your phone, sees the two of you talking, and puts two and two together, just like that.
“Why him?” she says after she pulls you aside. “You are literally sleeping with the enemy.”
“He’s not the enemy, Klaus is,” you point out. “And since when are you the older sister?”
Bonnie ignores this attempt at humor, setting her jaw. "What would Grams say?”
Your protest is instant and sharp. “Grams is dead.”
Her absence lies heavy between you for a moment — her death was hard for both of you, but Bonnie lost a mentor in a way you didn’t. The witch gene saw fit to skip you; ironic, considering you knew about magic much earlier than your sister did. (Grams showed you years ago, once you swore to keep it secret; you were already a believer anyway.)
Bonnie bites her lip. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That was unfair. Just… be careful. Vampires aren’t the reliable type.”
You pretend not to understand what she means, as if your mom quitting on you didn’t leave you both with a hole inside and a fear of abandonment that requires elaborate strategies to handle. Your sister and you have each other when it really counts, but that’s about it; everyone else leaves. You come by your relationship apathy honestly — your dad is not the emotionally available type, either, and he raised his daughters unwittingly in the same image. A Bennett girl is unassuming and chronically avoidant.
At least, you are. Bonnie takes after him less than you. She always had a certain resilience — she makes you proud, the fact that she can still let people in. You prefer to be in total control; it makes you feel indomitable.
Until Elijah ghosts you, and you have to consider that he might mean more to you than ‘total control’ would allow.
You collapse onto your couch, sighing from the very bottom of your lungs. It’s a casual relationship, meaning it shouldn’t be a big deal that he doesn’t text you back for a few days, but you’ve been in touch daily since you started sleeping together, and…
Yes, fine, you miss talking to him. And you feel more alone than you care to admit.
Your options for people in Mystic Falls you can actually talk to are limited; you consider calling a friend from college, but you doubt anyone is going to be available this late on a Saturday. Your vague text to Bonnie goes unread, like you weren’t already pathetic. You could call, but bothering your little sister of all people with your love life makes you feel guilty; instead, you resign yourself to trash TV and falling asleep alone on the couch. Settling in, you throw a blanket over your bare legs and remind yourself not to care. Ignore the pain. Everyone leaves. Better to expect nothing.
Holding your breath, you force yourself not to rush to the door. Get up slowly. Normal, dignified steps, just in case. Not that you think it’s really him. On the off chance it is, you vow to play it cool.
Until you open it, and there he is, with something slightly off about him. Upon seeing him, you feel such a torrent of emotion you swear the floor beneath you rocks for a moment; suddenly, you’re panicking, because he’s thrown you off balance and made you feel like a vulnerable child again. You scramble for any measure of control. “Guess the radio silence is over,” you say flatly, like you’re not relieved enough to cry. “Where the hell have you been?”
The spiral of panic inside you comes to an abrupt end — he didn’t leave you — but the freefall at its end is somehow worse; it knocks the breath out of you, because he still might, and you want him to stay. He steps inside your apartment, hands slowly coming up to touch your neck. You want him to continue, to never stop touching you; you want him to leave and never come back and spare you from this feeling.
“I thought you’d left,” you choke out.
Elijah says your name, softly, like an affirmation. “I would never abandon you.”
You never told him about what the loss of your mother and grandmother did to you, just that one left and the other died, but your silence must have told him everything he needed to know — with those simple words, he all but unmakes you. The storm inside stills. He’s here. You’re safe. As the world steadies again, you notice two things: firstly, his suit is too large. Incorrect fit is unprecedented for the Elijah you know — he must have come straight here from wherever he got the emergency clothing.
Secondly, he looks at you like you’re a banquet, and he’s a starving man.
His eyes glitter in the half-dark of your hallway, the intimate quiet enveloping the two of you. You can hear your own ragged breaths in the silence before he speaks again. “You were the last thing I thought of as I felt the blade enter my chest, and the first thing I thought of when I was brought back. Not Niklaus. Not my family. Just… you.” His lips touch your temple, your eyelid, your cheek. “How can that be?”
He says it with such wonder, cradling your face; your throat closes up for a moment, and you feel tender like a bruise. You can barely process his explanation and the implications — everyone lied to you, including your sister — let alone that he’s been thinking about you the same way you do about him. He missed you.
“I missed you,” you whisper, turning your face to kiss him, and just like that, everything else fades — all that matters is your body and his, and the way he presses you into the wall. Arousal drips between your legs; you let him slide your satin shorts down and turn you around, arcing your back when he pulls your hips into him.
You barely get your ‘yes’ out before he’s touching your over your panties, palming and squeezing your ass, hands greedy for your skin. You’re no better; you reach behind you, clutching at his belt, then finding the stiff outline of his cock. His low groan mixes with your heavy breathing.
“I hope your understand how difficult you make it for me to not simply take you right here and now.” His voice is dark in your ear as he pulls your panties down and slides two large fingers inside your needy pussy. You’re starved enough to pulse around them before he pumps them even once.
You push yourself against his fingers, whimpering softly. “I don’t care. Fuck me here.”
“You deserve a bed. Then again—“ his fingers disappear, leaving you empty while his belt buckle clinks — “you make me impatient enough that you can have a little taste.” The final word is accompanied by your desperate moan as he pushes inside you, only halfway, but you’ve longed for this so much you almost sob.
“Oh god, that feels so good,” you pant.
“Already desperate, darling? I’m only giving you half my cock.”
“More,” you plead. “Please, please, don’t stop.”
He makes a sound of a kind you’ve never heard before, not even during orgasm — animalistic, impatient. Lightning fast, he pulls out, scoops you up, and before you can say a word he’s carried you into your bedroom and undressed you. Normally, this is where he’d kiss your body, making an art form out of it — the calculatedly slow dance of tongue and lips over your skin, just a hint of teeth every now and then — sucking on your nipples and eating you out until you beg to be fucked.
Neither of you have the patience now. He lets you help strip him naked, lets you feel the hard planes of his body, trace the jut of his hip and pump his cock a few times. That’s all you have time for before he more or less growls: “On all fours, darling. Now, before I lose my patience.”
Scrambling onto the bed, you’re barely in position before he’s widening the spread of your thighs with his hands and pushing into you. This time, it’s deep from the get go; within a few thrusts, you almost feel him in your stomach. You forget how to speak, how to breathe — right now, you’re nothing but a fuck toy for him to use, and it feels good.
“Touch your clit,” Elijah commands. His grip on your hips is tight, bruising, his breathing laboured. “Make yourself come on my cock. I want to feel it.”
It takes you a moment to locate your fingers and move them into position; your clit is slick and swollen under your fingertips, so responsive that touching it feels like a jolt of electricity. You mewl, almost collapsing onto your front before Elijah catches you by the shoulder. “Good girl, stay upright.”
“You feel so good,” you slur. “I’ve been dreaming about your cock.”
“I know, sweet girl,” he coos. “I’ve missed this pretty, perfect cunt.”
The coil of pleasure tight in your belly, and one more rough thrust is enough to undo you; your walls pulse, squeezing tight around his thick length. The sounds you let out is not so much a moan as a continuous wail, obscene and desperate — the release is so intense your vision blurs, legs shaking. Finally, Elijah lets your chest and cheek land on the mattress, gently lowering you without easing his punishing pace for a moment. Cock-drunk, you phase in and out of awareness, limp while he drives into you, over and over.
“Have you had enough already?” he asks.
“No,” you protest breathily. “Don’t stop.”
“It’s never too much for you, is it?” The approval in his tone makes you preen yourself, soaking up the praise. “That’s my girl, take it just like that.” He shifts, coming forward to drape himself over you, moaning into your hair. “You’re going to make me come.”
Lying prone like this, you feel every ridge and vein of his cock, and the full force of his thrust when he fills you up, cradling you and holding you as close as the boundaries of your bodies will allow. You want to stay in this moment forever; you want to do this with him again and again, to see him every day, to sleep enveloped in his closeness.
Finally, the tears come. They take you by surprise; you should be happy — you are — but you’re completely overwhelmed by the intensity of what you’ve just gone through. You turn your face away, try to compose yourself, but Elijah doesn’t let you hide; rolling you both onto your sides, he pulls you in close, lips gentle against your neck.
“Let it out,” he murmurs. “It’s alright.”
You hold together on instinct — you could compress this, like you’ve done all your life when someone gets too close. You could shut him out, tell him to leave, and return to your safe loneliness.
But you don’t want to, and once you face that, you break.
Sobs wrack your body as the fear and reluctant hope of the last few days takes its toll on you. You’ve never felt so vulnerable and small in your life, but through it all, Elijah is there, holding you tight. When you try to apologize, he hushes you.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweet girl,” he says.
“But this isn’t supposed to mean anything,” you sob. “It’s casual.”
“It does mean something though, doesn’t it?” He gently strokes a stray curl back from your tear-streaked face. “You’re allowed to care. I care about you.”
“I don’t know why that hurts to hear. I’m terrified,” you admit in a tiny voice.
“I know, darling. Just don’t let it control you.”
That’s the moment you finally realize that this entire time, you haven’t been in control at all — you’ve let the fear control you. The insight shakes you to your core and brings on a new wave of tears, but Elijah anchors you, a steadfast presence lovingly keeping the pieces of you together.
So when the crying abates, you’re still some semblance of a whole person. He helps clean you up after, eases your transition into this uncharted territory of intimacy. Exhausted, you let him take care of you, take you back into his arms when sleep creeps up on you. Finding his hand, you interlace your fingers with his and squeeze lightly, hoping it conveys your gratitude, the affection you can’t put into words yet.
“Promise you’ll still be here tomorrow,” you whisper.
“I promise.” He kisses the junction between your neck and shoulder, the spot behind your ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The safety of his presence lulls you to sleep as he plays with coils of your hair. It won’t be easy, this thing between you, but at least you’ve made a start. At least you trust he’ll stay.
