#fandom: the vampire diaries

[cosmic-adventurers]

This story is for @fluff-cember (Alternate Prompt: Home-cooked Meals), @hurtcember (Day 12: Cry), and @ao3tagbingo (Tag: Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Rating: T

Pairing: Damon/Elena

Fluff, angst, humor, emotional hurt/comfort, banter, mutual pining

Word count: 3834

Summary: When a sudden storm prevents them from following up on a lead to look for Stefan, Damon suggests baking some pignoli cookies to cheer Elena up – but maybe there’s more behind her weird behavior than he realizes. Takes place in early S3.

Elena had been playing the weirdest game of hide-and-seek with him for days. Dodging him like she'd suddenly developed an allergy for Damon cooties one minute, and them desperately seeking him out - flimsy non-excuse in hand - the next.

On top of that, it was the first rainy afternoon in weeks, spreading through several states, which put a sudden halt to his secret plans to track Stefan and Klaus in the Smokies, based on a half-reliable lead at best. In fact, all the forecasts predicted golden, sunny weather, with only the slightest chance of rain, and the sudden storm seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Some local coven was probably agonizing that their precious herbs weren't getting enough of Mother Nature's tears, and overdid it on the rain ritual. Typical. Or maybe chaos was just in the air.

Speaking of.

Damon leaned against the doorway to the parlor of the Boarding House, swirling a tumbler of bourbon as he watched the whirlwind of pen strokes and turmoil write herself into a storm to rival the one railing outside. Sometimes their eyes would meet, and as soon as she was caught, a delectable blush would coat her cheeks, diverting her attention to the journal once more. Occasionally, she would pause and stare at seemingly nothing – her gaze filled with a distraught kind of confusion. But then she would wrap her fingers around her vervain necklace, and a profound sense of calm would kiss her features once more – her eyes would flutter closed and her lips would curl into a smile, as though the necklace itself gave her strength, a steady reservoir of joy. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that those moments were bittersweet. As nice as it was to see the anxiety leave her spirit, however fleetingly, the knowledge that it was all thanks to thoughts of his saintly brother made the whole thing taste like ash.

This behavior, where Elena alternated between seeking him out and avoiding him, caught in a loop of soft vulnerability and sharp frustration, began on her birthday last week.

He chalked it up to her learning that her sanctimonious, morally-upright Saint Stefan was more Hyde than Jekyll, but that still didn’t explain the odd moments he’d find her staring at him with a look suspiciously like longing, only to quickly turn away and pretend to busy herself with the journal lying upside down on her lap when he caught her. Or, on the off chance that the notebook was aligned correctly, she’d begin scribbling in it like someone possessed, seemingly desperate to free herself of the persistent something that kept her captive.

He assumed it was some kind of tragic ode of longing for his pompous brother, filled with melodramatic rhetoric about the noble virtues of his Hero Hair and broody disposition.

But that wasn’t even the really weird part.

No, what really puzzled him were some of the telltale signs that he’d already been accustomed to since they’ve met, only dialed up to eleven: her dilated pupils when he got a little too close; her racing heartbeat whenever some part of her would brush some part of him, accidentally-on-purpose; the enticing shift in her scent whenever she caught sight of him, that stirred something deep and primal within him. But Damon knew that she’d wanted him for a while, so what changed? Even then, he knew that it wasn’t just physical attraction – there were feelings behind the yearning glances she’d cast his way when she was certain he was otherwise occupied – but this took it to an entirely different level.

And whatever it was, it was starting to drive him crazy.

 All right. Enough of this. He could only take so much tense silence. He swallowed the remaining bourbon in his tumbler, and swaggered over to her, hoping to remind her what fun actually looks like.

 “Oh, Stefan! My Broody Knight in Rock-Hard Hair Gel!” Damon mocked in a dramatic falsetto, lifting an imaginary journal with Shakespearean flair to emote a staged reading with one hand, and using the other to clutch at his heart. “The caverns of your frown lines run so deep, that I find myself lost and adrift in the memory of your mopey silences –”

 Elena raised an eyebrow, finally putting her notebook down. Ooh, and look – right-side-up this time. A solid 30% track record. “What’s the matter, Damon? Not getting enough attention?”

 “Not even close!” Damon said, giving her a sultry wink before resuming his performance. “Your moral superiority –”

 “Is that what you think I write about?” She rolled her eyes theatrically, but Damon saw the upward twitch of her lips that she tried to hide – mission accomplished.

 “And lo! How I’ve been forced to part with thy tragic perfection – whose visage alone makes all the forest animals weep – though perhaps it’s with relief. And instead, must endure the company of your much wittier, sexier, more charming brother!”

 Elena tapped her chin thoughtfully, her dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “Fake falsetto Elena raises a great point, you know. The ‘wittier, sexier, more charming brother,’ might be growing an ego large enough to form its own gravitational field, and that puts her in danger,” she expressed in mock-concern, punctuating his title with air quotes.

 Damon shrugged, a lazy grin forming as walked over to the wet cart and poured himself another glass. “Being a danger magnet’s kind of her thing.”

 She rewarded him with an infectious laugh that warmed something in his chest with a delicious ache. “So, is this the plan? Spend the rest of the afternoon making bad guesses about my journal?”

 “Nope!” He grabbed his phone, bringing up a search engine. The truth was that her behavior began to worry him. Clearly Stefan’s sacrifice was weighing heavily on her. And while baby bro was busy earning his Martyr Merit Badge with the Original Drama Lord, Elena continued to spiral. The absolute last thing she needed was this, and after losing both pairs of her adopted parents and birth parents – forced to watch three of them die violently – this could have finally set her over the edge. “Is it my turn to make bad guesses?” She responded with a grin of her own.

 “We’re going to make pignoli cookies,” he replied with a wink. “I just need to pick up some almond paste and pine nuts.” A quick Google search told him that they carried them both in the supermarket in the next town over. Frowning in contemplation, he decided it would probably be faster if he just ran.

 When he came back less than ten minutes later, he was less-than-surprised to find her frozen in the same position with a blank look on her face, looking past what he was sure were fascinating figures on the wall. 

 “How did you get back here so fast?” she finally asked, clearly startled when he walked in, his now-soaked fitted tee clinging to him in a way that made her pupils instantly blow up in size, followed immediately by an adorable blush and a refusal to meet his eyes. There she is.

 Damon rolled his eyes theatrically. “I’m a vampire, Elena. We have a little thing called ‘super-speed’ – at least those of us not beholden to the whims of Bambi’s new workout regimen.”

She hopped off the couch, surprising him by leaving her precious journal unattended to peek into the bags.

He playfully smacked her hands away when she reached for the pine nuts, 

"I didn’t know you could bake.”

 “I have lots of hidden talents,” he said, letting his tone drop suggestively, while tearing the almond paste into smaller pieces. “But I like cooking more. Baking’s a bit too precise for me. I like something a little more … experimental.” He extended the last word suggestively, meeting her gaze with that same flirtatious flash of his eyes that he’d been expressly told not to do. What did she call it? ‘The eye thing?’

 She instantly ducked her head trying to hide her physical reaction, which suited every smug instinct in him just fine. She must have picked up on it though – it’s like she had a special radar for when he got too cocky in her presence, and immediately met his gaze again, raising her eyebrows in playful challenge. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

 “What do you think it means?”

 She tilted her head to the side cheekily. “I’m not sure this is the appropriate time to discuss all your kinks.”

 He gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, Elena! Get your mind out of the gutter. I meant experimenting with different flavor profiles.” Before she could respond, he dashed up to Stefan’s room and back, retrieving the stuffed teddy bear she’d been keeping there when she spent the night.

“Is she like this with you, too, Gummi?” he asked the bear, exaggerated concern written all over his features. His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Does she sexually harass you, too?”

“All the time, Damon!” he cried in an even higher falsetto than before, really straining his voice, while wiggling the teddy’s little hands and feet in front of his face. 

 “Show me, Gummi. Show me where Elena’s hurt you.” He directed the little paw to point right at his heart, placing his own hand over it in a dramatic display of compassion for the stuffed bear.

“I just want her to love me,” Damon-as-Gummi cried, the sound of her laughter reducing everything inside him to jelly, and urging him to continue, unable to fight the uncharacteristically foolish grin on his face, “but Elena won’t stop talking about sex.”

He turned to Elena, wagging his finger at her in a display of disappointment. “You need to learn to control yourself, Elena. Poor Gummi’s traumatized.”

She grinned deviously, surprising him with a decidedly sultry step forward, so much that she was able to yank the bear from his hands without him noticing. “Nah, he’s just a prude. He’s supposed to be my Emotional Support Plushie, there to listen to all my wicked fantasies, but clearly he can’t keep up.”

Damon’s physiological response was immediate, his pupils darkening his eyes with desire as he narrowed the gap between them, their breaths practically mingling in their shared proximity as his gaze dropped to her lips. He told himself it was to call her bluff. “Maybe Gummi just needs a little break. I can be your Emotional Support Plushie, Elena. You can tell me all your wicked fantasies.”

Her heartbeat accelerated again and he was crushed to catch a glimpse of regret on her face as she grasped her necklace, stepping away from him to catch her breath. “Let’s get those cookies started?” Her voice cracked with false cheer, breaking the tension-filled spell in the room.

 “Why are you using a food processor, anyway, Mister I’m-a-super-speedy-vampire? Shouldn’t you be able to do it by hand?” Elena asked in challenge, leaning over the counter playfully as she watched Damon add the almond paste, confectioner’s sugar, egg white, salt, and vanilla into the machine. “Since you’re ‘too cool for pilates with Bambi,’” she mocked impishly.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he drawled, grabbing a whisk from one of the drawers and replacing the items into a large bowl. “The fragile human mind can only be exposed to so much cool at a time, and you’ve been spending most of your time with a guy whose idea of fun is quoting Puritan prayer books from memory.” Within seconds, though, his hand began to spin in a veritable blur, earning a squeal of delight from Elena.

“That’s so cool!” She leaned in closer, narrowing her eyes at the speedy motions before pulling back, a cheeky grin on her face. “You should make meringue next.”

When the cookies were finished, Elena grabbed one as soon as it wouldn’t scald to the touch, moaning at the taste. “Oh my God, these are amazing!” She leaned back on the couch, an expression of pure bliss on her face.

Damon’s throat constricted, and the promise of being able to leave with the receding rain almost felt like a blessing. He didn’t know how much longer he could spend in her presence and still hide everything he felt. “I thought we agreed you’d stop making sex noises in front of Gummi, and at least try to respect his boundaries.” 

She threw a pillow at him in retaliation, which he neatly dodged, but was instantly on her feet as soon as she saw him grab his keys, her face awash with consternation. “Where are you going?”

“The rain’s clearing, and I’ve got something I need to check out,” he told her, thumbing through his phone distractedly.

“You can’t!” The words were out before she could stop herself, her entire body hurtling forward to stop him. Her hand shot out, holding his wrist in vice grip – surprisingly strong for a human. That’s when he realized it was infused with panic – a fight or flight response. Her heart was racing again, but this time it wasn’t from desire. He could practically feel the palpable fear, smell the sharp spike in her adrenaline.

He cocked his head to the side to study her. What’s gotten her into such a tizzy about him leaving? “And why’s that?”

Her panicked eyes flicked to his ribs, where he was staked during their previous bout of Klaus and Stefan’s creepy take on Where’s Waldo meets Hansel and Gretel, only they chose to substitute breadcrumbs with reports of disassembled bodies.

“I’m coming with you!”

“Nope! The Sun’s already set, and by the time I get there, the Smokies are going to be crawling Remus Lupin’s less hygienic cousins. You’d only slow me down.”

When her heart sped up even more, Damon began to seriously entertain the idea of distracting her and sprinkling the cookie in her hand with some of his blood in case she went into cardiac arrest. Still holding his wrist in a death grip, she walked over to the window in the darkened parlor, gracelessly dragging him along. If not for them being rounded in terror, Damon would think that her eyes in this moment – sparkling fields of midnight velvet, reflecting twin golden marbles of the Full Moon – were one of the most breathtaking sights of his life.

And then he realized the real reason for her anxiety. She must be worried about him. Her mopey knight.

So that’s why she’s been so reluctant to let him throw himself into the fray. She needs him to get his brother back. Something told Damon a stake to the heart would have hurt less, but he refused to let her see it, his ever-present smirk on his face yet again.

 And yet, there was something so genuine in the way she looked at him – the way her hand dug into his wrist, like she sincerely cared. Sometimes when he caught her gaze, he could almost swear that she was in lo –

 No, there was no way. That was definitely wishful thinking.

“We…” her voice faltered. “We need to make more cookies – for Jenna, and Jeremy – and Ric!”

“Right.” She’d been doing this more and more – creating some silly excuse to keep him from running into danger, and he was getting increasingly tired of her dancing around her actual reasons. One of these days – someday very soon – he’d make her admit it. He knew she ‘cared,’ as she was fond of telling him, but this felt deeper – more poignant, more real.

“Okay, so that should take another hour or two – tops.”

“And after that –!” Now both of his wrists were in her hands. “I should probably make some for Bonnie and Caroline; and Matt, and Tyler – oh! And we can make an extra batch for the Lockwood Fourth of July Party!”

“Why so much concern over the Lockwoods? Are we trying to infiltrate them by posing as the Werewolf Girls Scout Troop?”

“And – and you have to stay here, and help me bake them,” she continued, her voice stilted. “Because otherwise, I’m going to burn down your house.” She leveled a mock-threatening gaze at him that he found absolutely adorable. “I can’t be trusted around a stove, remember?”

He couldn’t stand to see her so worried, moving to cup her face gingerly, the jocularity in his voice replaced a softness that she'd become unnervingly adept at bringing out. "What's this really about?"

She threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight enough to hurt, as he felt her body shudder against him. After the initial shock receded, he wrapped his arms around her trembling body, soothing the softening cries with gentle strokes on her back, her hair. "Okay there, Randy. I know you want to see me in a wet tee shirt again, but you could just ask," he attempted playfully. She responded with a sob-chuckle and a smack against his back, after which she held him even tighter. His demeanor instantly softened, a curious ache taking place within him - one even more painful than his increasingly breaking heart. The sight of her in so much pain was agonizing to him.  “Don’t worry, Elena. I’ll bring your saintly soulmate back to you in one piece. I’ll polish his halo and everything so that not a strand that Hero Hair is out of place.”

She looked at him strangely – as though through him. There was a resigned, almost penetrating sadness in her gaze. Her lips quirked into a wistful smile that didn’t meet her eyes, until the laugh that she couldn’t stifle softened them with mirth. “I wouldn’t call him ‘saintly.’ But he’s not as bad as he pretends to be, either.”

Stefan? The guy who could give hypocritical church ladies a run for their money in the self-righteousness department, pretending to be bad? Maybe her spiral’s even worse than he thought.

“Look, he’s still the same pompous, annoyingly self-righteous douche we all know and love; and once Klaus stops pulling his perfect little puppet strings, you’ll have your mopey boyfriend back.”

 “Right. Klaus.”

“What you’re feeling now is just temporary,” he said, the softness in his voice cutting into his own heart. “You’ll have your sullen savior back, and everything will be right as rain. Happily ever after. True love conquers all.” He was making himself sick. Damn, he felt pathetic.

 “I –”She stole another quick glance at his lips before her eyes shot back to his. “I’m not sure that’s possible anymore. We can't always get what we want, Damon. Sometimes things ... things make it too late. It would cause too much damage.”

 “Ooh, look at you, all doom and gloom. What happened to all that annoying optimism?”

 “Because being with me might cost him something else that’s important to him, and I’m not about to let him lose that – not when he’s fought for so long to get it back.”

 “The blood lust issues?”

 “Sure,” she said, glancing away, unable to meet his eyes.

“What could possibly be more important than you?” he asked quietly, the question pouring forth from his heart without his knowledge or permission.

The expression on her face was so achingly vulnerable that it nearly broke him. Her hand gingerly touched her necklace again just as her eyes fluttered to his lips. The sound of her racing heartbeat nearly eclipsed that of the one shattering his heart every time she reminded him with that one gesture that it’ll always be Stefan . It was so cacophonous that he barely heard her next words. “Someone who isn’t temporary.”

“Why would you be temporary? Aren’t you two supposed to be written in the stars as the paragons of melodramatic love confessions and dreamy sighs?”

“Damon, I –” Her voice affected a gentle, almost apologetic tone - tough it was obvious to him that something inside her was breaking and every fiber within him wanted to heal it, to make it whole. “We’ve had our fun pretending – and it was nice; it almost made me feel normal – but I can’t forget what I am. I’m the doppelganger. I doubt I’ll survive the year –”

“Don’t you say that!” His response was visceral, immediately, the energy sucked from the room as just the thought of that was enough to utterly pain him. He forced himself to breathe naturally, evenly, letting his hands fall to take hers and press them to his heart. “Takes all the fun out of outsmarting Klaus and the rest of the rest of the emotionally-constipated Shakespearean tragedy of a family. Can’t let them win.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced, but didn’t argue. Instead, she threaded her fingers through his, squeezing them for several whole seconds before speaking. “We’re out of ingredients, if we’re spending the rest of the night baking. Let’s go pick up some more.”

“I can get them faster by myself,” he countered.

“You’d better come right back. No reckless detours.” She nodded, taking a step back. “The cookies await!”

“Relax! There and back. Like a one-vamp ultra-sexy hurricane."

“Mm,” she hummed, scrutinizing him skeptically through narrowed eyes. “Sorry if I don’t take your word for it, and put my own insurance policy in place.”

“Oh, what’s that? More melodramatic entries about Stef's noble attack on the evil ozone layer, one hair product at a time?”

“Okay, well, remember, if you’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’m setting your house on fire.” To punctuate her point, she clasped her hands at waist level, perfectly mimicking the saccharine image of an innocent fairy tale princess.

Uh-huh. Wow. Well, he always suspected she was just as crazy as he was.  A sly grin captured his face, as yet another piece of his heart merrily jumped into her hand, belonging to her forever.

“And just how many batches are we making?”

Her eyes flicked to the now-healed space on his forearm where he once had a werewolf bite, then turned to the window, the soft moonlight illuminating her face in an ethereal glow that squeezed a part of him he thought forgotten before he met her. She met his gaze again, he could plainly see her eyes shining with unshed tears. “As many as it takes.” There was determination in the delicate affection of her voice.

“Okay, Miss Arsonist. I’d better not see a single match near my bourbon when I come back, or anything I make for you from now on is coming out of a box." When a hint of trepidation remained on her face, he felt his own demeanor soften, letting his thumb gently stroke her cheekbone.

"Promise me."

For a second, Damon could almost swear he saw something in the aching vulnerability in her expression, the same longing, the same love that threatened to tear his still-beating undead heart from his chest and place it in her waiting hands - to crush, to squeeze, to do with as she wished. And like an idiot, he would gladly let her, because even pained seconds in her warmth were infinitely better than the coldness of the world without her.

"Fifteen minutes, Elena. I promise."

[ocpotluck]

[PT 1/4]Happy Pride🌈 @reyofluke-ocs

[girlkisser13]

diet mountain dew

"you’re no good for me" "but baby, i want you, i want you, i want you"

pairings: klaus mikaelson x human fem!reader

warnings/tags: smut (18+), blood kink, blood sharing, unprotected sex (practice safe sex guys), creampie, needy klaus.

summary: you let klaus feed on you.

you'd expected him to be hungry. you just hadn't realized how ravenous he was, nor what drinking blood did to him.

"f-fuck, ah— c-careful," you gasped.

your voice echoed in the empty room, and his pleasurable grunts echoed with it. it was so dark that you could barely see a thing. you winced, again, from the strange new sensations surging through your body.

"ah— c-careful, klaus, please" you squeaked, it was the only sound that could escape your throat as he clamped your shoulder in his jaw. your neck was soaked, smeared in spit and blood, a leftover gift from when he had searched for the safest spot to drink.

he'd settled on the spot between your collarbone and neck, and there his teeth had sunk in.

with his fangs pierced right down to the bone and his lips bruising your skin, he continued to carefully suck your blood out and into his mouth. it felt like heaven, warm and wet sliding down his throat. to you it was a confusing mix of pleasure and pain.

"a-ah... is—is it, okay?" you whimpered.

klaus let out a low moan in response.

you couldn't move. you were clamped in his jaw, the jaw of a predator designed to keep its prey still, and his body was pinning yours to the cold wood of the floor.

to any passerby you would have looked terrifying. his body was obscured in the dark, appearing as just a hulking, bloody shadow, merging and distorting the outline of your own form; the visage of a monster in the night, consuming the body of a frightened human.

but that wasn't how you saw it. no, you were in the thralls of absolute delight.

one of his hands were on your waist, his fingers carefully drawing you up until you were held taut beneath his body, and the other hand was feverishly groping your tits.

he had torn your dress to feed and then tore a little further, leaving your skin bare right down to your ribs. he was squeezing, stroking, his thumb desperately massaging your nipple. he wanted to hear your whimpers, your soft jolts when he overstimulated that sensitive spot.

you felt him sink down between your legs, his hardened bulge thick and round as it nudged at your bare thigh. he was softly grinding it up against your panties.

you'd never do this, never. this wasn't like you at all. but you were doing it now.

you were mewled as he dry-humped your little body.

your breath was ragged, the soft puffs of condensation from your lips turned a ghostly white by the pale light.

feeding had always been a euphoric experience for him. but now, with you, it had become a full body orgasmic experience, feeding every positive stimulus in his brain and body.

every nerve in his body was on fire in the best way. his body was pulsing, pumping. his arms were covered in goosebumps, his dark hair standing on end, and his cock was painfully erect beneath his pants.

he needed relief. he needed more.

"mmm... mmm," his muffled groans got louder as he continued to feed.

his conscious brain was fighting those deep, vampiric urges, the need to indulge in pleasure no matter the consequences, but his subconcious was primal.

if he had his way he'd drain everything, slowly, all while pumping between your legs into your pretty little cunt, but he couldn't allow that.

you were a sweet, naïve thing, you'd just let him take you up here. your whimpers were heaven, but your softness was too pure for him to fully ruin.

so he forced himself to break a part from you.

he withdrew his fangs and pulled back, revealing the purple, bruised skin of your shoulder. he licked the wound clean before forcing himself away.

"please, please, if you—if you give me your wrist, i—i'll be done, and—"

klaus paused to pant, his lips still stained red. you watched your own blood drip down his chin.

"and, if i could... have you, in another way, it may help to, calm my urges" he said, his voice husky and dark. you watched his eyes glimmer a bright gold. "may i have you?"

"yes," you instinctively blurted, he lunged forward and kissed you. his lips were hard, rough, and you could taste the metallic sting of blood on them. when he pulled back he looked overjoyed.

"good. good. come here, love," he ordered.

you jolted as he dragged your body forward. he carefully tore a hole through your dress and panties with his bare hands.

you shuddered as the cold air hit your bare and slick-coated pussy, but klaus didn't leave you bare for long.

he roughly manhandled you onto the ground before stripping out his suit, allowing his already erect cock to fall down hard on your clit. the sight caused a small, surprised noise to escape your throat, one that he relished.

he was slow, deliberately distracting you with his cock as he raised your wrist to his mouth. he kept you captivated as he carefully slid it inch by inch down your swollen clit, letting you feel every inch.

the pleasure of sinking both his teeth and his cock into you at once was enough to make him physically shake.

with a soft grunt he penetrated both.

your words were turned to gibberish as he pushed his cock in deep, until his pelvis was perfectly squished up against you. the moment your blood hit his throat he started to pump.

you were inside him, and he was inside you. on that filthy, cold floor, you were his.

he started to push his cock in tandem with his teeth.

as his fangs gently shifted beneath the skin, as his lips sucked and bruised, his fat cock gently slipped in and out of your cunt. for such a furious feeder he was a surprisingly gentle lover.

he was terrifyingly strong, that much was clear up close. he bent your thighs until they ached, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you in place, and with each push you could feel the power he was holding back.

you felt him pumping, drawing out your precious blood while his cock ravaged you from inside. each delicious slip, each pulsing throb, every time you felt his cock twitching for attention against your creamy walls, it was unbearable.

you were whining, your heavy breathes producing less and less ghostly condensation. klaus was panting furiously with each thrust, his breath condensing like smoke as he huffed through his curled nose. he was lost in the pleasure, the urge, the need.

and between the tightness, the heat, the copious oozing slick squelching and pooling around his bare skin and dripping off his balls as they smacked against your ass, mixed with the sound of you whining and the fresh blood in his body, he couldn't last any longer.

with a single, muffled groan, klaus came inside of you. his blue eyes rolled back and his body began to buck, smacking your hips until they went numb.

just as he felt your hot blood filling his mouth you felt his thick seed pooling and squishing its way into your cunt, filling every available space. it started to seep out as he continued to hump your limp body, now hanging in sweat, hot pearly strings between his pelvis and your inner thighs.

he pumped inside you until he was utterly spent, his own head now hazy and light, and at last he released you. your wrist fell limp to the floor.

klaus coyly wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist before brushing your forehead. "are—are you alright?"

the relief he felt when you shakily nodded was unmatched.

"thank you," he murmured, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "you were... delicious."

[calummss]

Shower with Me? | Elijah Mikaelson

masterlist

summary: you come back from your trip and have elijah wrapped around your finger

pairing: elijah mikaelson x fem! reader

words: 700

a/n: i love elijah

It was late in the afternoon when the grand doors swung open as you stepped inside, dropping your bags onto the floor with a soft thud, letting them know you were home.

“I’m back!” Your voice light and sweet as you made your way towards the living room, heels clicking against the floor. “Traffic was bad, remind me to use my vampire speed instead of a car.”

Inside the living room the usual scene awaited you; Kol was lounging on the sofa, flipping a coin between his fingers with an air of boredom. Klaus stood by the window, focused on his canvas, adding strokes of colours to his work. And Elijah sat in his favourite chair, ever so composed as he scanned the newspaper, a glass of amber bourbon in his hand.

Kol barely looked up but his voice coated with amusement as soon as he opened his mouth. “Back so soon? I was hoping for a few more days of peace. New York City that boring?”

“Depends on how you define boring, Kol. I was a blast, the city on the other hand couldn’t handle me—Maybe I should go to LA?” You trailed on. “Why? Miss me that much?”

Klaus smirked but didn’t stray from his canvas. “Depends. Did you bring us souvenirs, love?”

You placed your hand over your mouth, pretending to be shocked. “Oh, no I forgot the ‘World’s Best Sibling’ mugs.”

Kol snorted, tossing the coin into the air. “Might as well has brought back a halo for Elijah while you're at it.”

You turned towards Elijah, who had yet to acknowledge the playful banter, his eyes still scanning the newspaper. You walked around his chair, placing a soft kiss on his neck. "You’re awfully quiet."

Elijah flipped a page, unbothered. "I was merely enjoying the silence before you lot turned this house into a marketplace."

You grinned, leaning down to wrap your arms around his shoulders. “So broody.” You removed your arms from his frame and straightened your back, dramatically stretching your arms before turning towards the grand staircase. “I’m gonna go shower,” you said, turning around to lock eyes with Elijah as a smile formed on your face. “Come and join me?”

Silence.

Elijah lowered the newspaper from his gaze, head slightly tilted as his eyes sent an undeniable thrill down your spine. But it wasn’t just Elijah who stopped. Klaus had stopped mid stroke, and Kol caught his coin. Both brothers were staring at Elijah with barely restrained amusement.

Elijah exhaled, setting the newspaper aside with measured grace. Then, with complete sincerity, he spoke: "Darling, you know I keep a dagger hidden in this house." He paused, his voice smooth but firm. "If I ever say no to that question, I want you to dagger me."

You beamed.

Kol let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Well, that’s one way to prove devotion.”

Klaus smirked, continuing his painting. “Careful, brother. Keep this up, and we might start thinking you’ve gone soft.”

Elijah didn’t spare them a glance. He had already risen from his chair, his full attention on you as your hand reached for his as he followed your lead. You turned, heading toward the stairs with a satisfied sway in your step, knowing full well Elijah was right behind you.

Kol leaned back, a wicked grin playing on his lips. “Think they’ll actually shower?”

Klaus huffed a laugh. “Not a chance.”

[sah1x1s-archived]

DON'T MIND THIS POST, I'M TRYING A TAG DUMP FOR THE FIRST TIME SO I MIGHT NOT BE GETTING THIS RIGHT.

Fandoms

[r-memberme]

obliterated | k.m

⎯⎯ “And whose fault is that, love? You had to go and look so…so bloody enchanting tonight. Had me drowning in my own ruin.”

warnings: none I think

Klaus Mikaelson is, in a word, obliterated.

Not that he’d ever admit to it, of course. He is the noble and dignified hybrid, the terror of centuries, the scourge of continents—certainly not some hapless drunkard being hauled through the halls of his own bloody mansion by the one person who dares to manhandle him.

“Good God, Niklaus, you’re a mess,” you huff, readjusting your grip on his arm as he leans heavily into your side.

“A charming mess,” he slurs, voice syrup-thick and lazy, his usual sharp tongue dulled by whiskey. “And whose fault is that, love? You had to go and look so…so bloody enchanting tonight. Had me drowning in my own ruin.”

You roll your eyes as you half-carry him into the grand bathroom, its candlelit expanse entirely too luxurious for the task at hand. Gold-rimmed mirrors, an obscene clawfoot tub, plush towels stacked neatly—none of it suited for wrestling down an inebriated original hybrid.

Klaus stumbles, catching himself against the marble sink, blinking at his reflection as if it personally offended him. “I look devastatingly handsome, don’t I?” he muses, tilting his head. “Like a tragic poet. Byron himself would weep.”

“You look like an idiot,” you counter, shoving his hands under the running water. “And sticky. What the hell did you get on yourself?”

He frowns, lifting one damp palm. “Might’ve been…champagne. Or blood. Hard to say.”

You groan, reaching for the soap. “You are worse than a toddler.”

He hums, all smug delight. “Ah, but I’m your toddler.”

“I’m going to drown you in this sink.”

“You wouldn’t dare, sweetheart.” He turns his head, catching you with those devastatingly blue eyes, even half-lidded with drink. “You love me too much.”

You freeze for half a second—half a second too long, because Klaus notices. The grin he gives you is positively wolfish, despite the inebriation. “Oh-ho,” he drawls, words thick and clumsy but sharp enough. “You do. You absolutely do.”

“Wash your hands,” you snap, cheeks burning, heart hammering, anything to distract from the way he is looking at you like you hung the bloody stars.

He obeys, but only for a moment before he’s turning to you again, water forgotten. His hands land on your hips, damp fingers pressing against your clothes, and suddenly you are chest to chest with him.

“Klaus—”

“Shhh,” he whispers, eyes soft, dangerously earnest. “I need to tell you something.”

Your pulse stutters. He’s looking at you like he’s about to carve poetry into your soul, like he is on the precipice of something monumental. And he’s drunk.

You panic. “No! Not right now.”

His face falls, brows drawing together in confusion, then wounded offense. “I… I’m trying to confess my love to you.”

“Oh, for—Klaus,” you sigh, exasperated but utterly gone for him. “I know. That’s not— I just— I want you to be sober when you do.”

He stares at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. Then, before you can react, he slumps forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek—clumsy, sincere, impossibly soft.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

“Alright,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

giggling and kicking my feet rn

taglist: @ohapple

@myworldrightnow

@deactiveblogx

@witch-of-letters

@xtwistedchaosx

@liataylorsversion

@pardonmydelayyy

@siredbyklausm

[mikaelsonincorrectquotes]

Y/n, over text: Turn around.

Y/n: No, the other way.

Y/n: Wrong way again.

Damon: Where are you??

Y/n: At home, but the idea of you turning aimlessly in circles amuses me.

[especially-obsessed]

Hoodie

Summary: Jeremy gives you his hoodie <3

Pairing: Jeremy Gilbert x reader

Warnings: fluff! a little spicy if you squint at it <3

Word count: 4.4k (whoopsie)

Masterlist | Jeremy’s Playlist

Tyler Lockwood really didn’t know how to throw a small party.

The mansion was packed — people spilling out into the backyard, the music thumping loud enough to feel in your chest. Fairy lights twinkled from the trees, and the bonfire crackled somewhere in the distance. It would’ve been perfect… if it wasn’t so cold.

You hadn’t exactly dressed for the weather. When you left the house, it had been warm enough for a cute top and jeans, but the night air had turned sharp, and now you were regretting everything. Hugging your arms around yourself, you tried to focus on the party — on the laughter, the music, the people dancing in the grass — but your teeth were on the verge of chattering.

“You okay?”

You looked up, and there was Jeremy, appearing at your side like he always did when you needed him. His dark hair was a little messy, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie and his eyes flicked over you with that familiar mix of concern and softness.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to play it cool even though you were visibly shivering. “Just… you know. Little cold.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything — just raised an eyebrow in that way he did when he wasn’t buying your nonsense. And then, without a word, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head and held it out to you.

“Take it.”

You blinked up at him. “Jeremy, you’ll freeze—”

“I’m not the one who’s turning into an icicle,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. “Come on. Just put it on.”

You hesitated for maybe half a second — and then the wind kicked up again, and you weren’t about to let pride keep you from warmth. You slipped the hoodie over your head, and the second it settled around you, your whole body relaxed.

It was warm. And soft. And it smelled like Jeremy — like pine and soap and something you couldn’t quite place but was undeniably him. The sleeves were so long they fell past your hands, and the hem brushed the middle of your thighs. You tugged the hood up, half to hide the fact that you were blushing and half because you didn’t want to take it off.

Jeremy watched you with a barely hidden smile. “Better?”

“Way better,” you mumbled, tugging the oversized sleeves over your fingers.

He grinned, and you noticed the way his eyes softened when they lingered on you. “Told you.”

For the rest of the night, you didn’t take it off. You stayed close to Jeremy — partly because you were warmer with him next to you, but mostly because… well, you just wanted to.

At some point, you ended up by the bonfire. Jeremy’s arm stretched along the back of the bench behind you, and when the wind kicked up again, you felt him shift closer until his shoulder brushed yours and stayed there. At some point, his hand found its way to yours inside of the hoodie sleeve, sending a rush of butterflies through your chest.

“You know,” you teased, “now you’re the one who’s gonna freeze.”

Jeremy smiled, his dimples showing. “I’ll survive.” His voice dipped softer, the firelight dancing across his face. “Besides… you look better in it than I do.”

Your face went warm, and it wasn’t from the fire. You ducked your head again. “Jeremy—”

“What?” he laughed, his knee bumping against yours. “It’s true.” 

The fire crackled softly in front of you, and the night air was still cold. But with Jeremy’s hoodie wrapped around you and his hand loosely tangled with yours inside the oversized sleeve, you barely noticed.

Neither of you spoke for a while, the music from the party fading into the background. You watched the flames dance, but your mind was fixated on the way his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. Slow and soft. Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

“You’re quiet,” Jeremy said eventually, his voice low and warm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You smiled, though you didn’t look at him. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitated, because how were you supposed to admit that your thoughts were mostly about him? About the way his hoodie smelled like him, the way his hand fit so perfectly around yours, the way he always noticed when you needed him without you even having to say a word.

“Nothing important,” you teased instead, glancing up at him with a little grin.

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but there was a soft curve to his lips. “Sure.” His gaze dipped down, taking in the sight of you in his sweatshirt, and his smile grew. “Y’know, you could keep it. If you want.”

Your heart skipped. “What, the hoodie?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but there was a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “I kinda like seeing you in it.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Because what were you supposed to say to that? Your face went warm, your fingers tightening around his without thinking.

“You’re blushing,” Jeremy teased, his voice dipping lower.

“Shut up,” you muttered, tugging the hood lower over your face to hide the fact that he was absolutely right.

He laughed softly, and before you could react, his hand let go of yours just so he could tug the hood back, brushing your hair away from your face. “Don’t hide,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “I like looking at you.”

That did nothing to help the whole blushing situation.

You were sure your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. And then, because your brain apparently wasn’t fully functioning, you whispered, “You’re being awfully sweet tonight.”

Jeremy’s smile softened. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah? What’s that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The air around you felt warmer, like the fire had crept closer, and you were suddenly very aware of how close he was.

“You should wear my stuff more often,” he said softly, his eyes flickering down to the hoodie you were practically swimming in. “Kinda like knowing you’re warm because of me.”

You were definitely not breathing anymore.

And then — because Jeremy Gilbert was apparently trying to kill you with sweetness — he pulled the sleeve of his hoodie back over your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. “There,” he said softly. “All cozy now.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jeremy…”

He smiled — that soft, warm, perfect smile — and his eyes searched yours like he was waiting for something. And maybe you would’ve said something, maybe you would’ve done something…

But then someone called Jeremy’s name from across the yard, and the moment broke. He sighed, his thumb brushing your hand one last time. “I should probably go see what that’s about.” You nodded, trying not to look as disappointed as you felt. But before he stood, Jeremy squeezed your hand. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Okay.”

You watched Jeremy disappear into the crowd, your heart still hammering from the way he had just looked at you, the way his fingers had lingered, the way his voice had turned soft and warm like you were the only person that mattered.

The hoodie still smelled like him. That stupid, wonderful mix of cologne and something distinctly Jeremy. You curled further into it, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. 

“Hey, you.”

The voice was familiar, slightly slurred, and way too close for comfort. You knew Matt was drunk before he even sat down next to you. He plopped down on the stone bench, his blue eyes glassy and unfocused. The scent of beer clung to him.

“Hey, Matt. What’s up?” You smiled at his state, knowing he didn’t usually get this drunk at parties. He was usually the DD. It was good for him to have some fun once in a while.

“You’re cute, you know that?” he murmured, his breath tinged with booze.

Your stomach twisted. Maybe he was having too much fun.

“Matt, you’re drunk,” you said lightly, shifting away, but his arm wrapped around the back of your shoulders lazily.

“‘M not that drunk,” he mumbled, a grin on his face.

Matt wasn’t usually like this. Sure, he could be flirty, but it was always in a friendly, harmless way. But this? The way his knee knocked against yours, the way his arm stretched out behind you, the way his words were just a little too slow and a little too bold? This wasn’t Matt. 

You glanced around, hoping to see someone you knew nearby, but the party was still in full swing, and no one was paying attention. Even the couple across the fire from you were sucking faces. 

“I mean it,” Matt continued, his voice dipping lower. “You look… really good.”

He reached out, tugging lightly at the sleeve of Jeremy’s hoodie. “Even in this thing. What, Gilbert let you steal his clothes now?” He smirked. “Kinda cute, actually.”

You swallowed, resisting the urge to shrink back. “Yeah, well… I was cold.”

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need his hoodie. I’d keep you warm if you’d asked.”

This was wrong. You weren’t scared, exactly, but you were uncomfortable. This wasn’t the Matt you knew—this was just the alcohol talking. But that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

You tensed, every instinct telling you to leave—

And then, suddenly, Matt was gone.

You barely had time to register that Jeremy’s hand was fisted in Matt’s shirt, yanking him off the bench.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeremy’s voice was low but furious.

Matt stumbled, blinking up at him in hazy confusion. “Dude—what?”

Jeremy shoved him back, not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough. “Back off.”

Matt scoffed, swaying slightly. “Relax, man, we were just—”

“No,” Jeremy’s body tensed up immediately. His jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists, clearly trying to contain himself. His gaze hardened as he stepped forward, eyes locking with Matt's. The tension in the air thickened, and his voice cut through it like a knife when he spoke to Matt. “You’re drunk, getting in her space, and not taking the hint.” His entire body was radiating anger. “So I’ll say it again—back off.”

Matt let out an annoyed huff, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Whatever.”

Jeremy didn’t move until Matt turned and disappeared into the crowd. Only then did he let out a slow breath, his hands still clenched into fists.

You were still frozen in place, heart racing—not from Matt anymore, but from Jeremy.

The look in his eyes when he turned to you wasn’t just frustration. It was something deeper. Something messy.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Jeremy exhaled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

“I was fine,” you attempted to reassure him.

Jeremy gave you a look, and you sighed.

“Okay, maybe not totally fine,” you admitted.

His lips pressed into a thin line. He was still pissed—you could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept flexing his fingers like he was forcing himself to relax.

And yet, beneath all of that, there was something else.

Something that made your stomach flutter.

You tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie, still wrapped around you, trying to ground yourself. Jeremy only shook his head, running a hand over his face. “C’mon,” he muttered, turning toward the edge of the property. “Let’s get out of here.”

The walk away from the party was quiet.

Jeremy still looked tense, his gaze fixed ahead, hands shoved deep into his pockets. You wondered if he was replaying what had happened—if he was still fighting the urge to go back and deck Matt for good measure.

You hesitated, then stepped closer, bumping your arm lightly against his. “You don’t have to be so mad.”

Jeremy let out a breath through his nose but stayed quiet. Your heart did a stupid little flip. You stopped walking, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “Jeremy.”

He sighed, finally looking at you, his expression softer now, but conflicted.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence between you two, stretching out like a wall you’re not sure how to break through. Then, his eyes met yours. There’s a softness in them; a crack in his usually guarded exterior. He opens his mouth, and his voice comes out quieter than you expected, barely above a whisper. “I don’t like seeing guys act like that with you.” The admission, so raw and unguarded, catches you off guard. It’s a side of him you didn’t expect, vulnerable and honest in a way he hadn’t been before.

Jeremy quickly looked away again, staring down at the pavement like he regretted saying anything. 

Silence stretched between you.

You bit your lip, warmth curling in your chest.

“You know,” you mused, voice teasing but gentle, “for someone who keeps trying to hide his feelings, you’re really bad at it.”

Jeremy huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

This time, you definitely caught the faintest hint of a smile before he ducked his head, his ears just barely tinged pink.

“Just shut up and keep walking,” he muttered.

You grinned.

And you did.

The quiet walk away from the party took you back to Jeremy’s house, neither of you speaking much.

Jeremy’s hands were still shoved in his pockets, his jaw tight. But the tension between you hadn’t disappeared. If anything, it had shifted—turning into something heavier. Something unspoken.

By the time you reached the Gilbert house, the air between you was thick with it.

Jeremy pushed open the front door, stepping inside first. The house was dark and silent—Elena must not be home yet.

You hesitated in the doorway, suddenly unsure. “I should probably—”

“Stay.”

Jeremy’s voice was quiet, but firm.

Your heart skipped.

He turned to look at you, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable. “Just for a little while.”

You swallowed, stepping inside. Jeremy shut the door behind you.

The air felt different in here; warmer, heavier. Maybe it was just because the outside chill had faded. Maybe it was because your heart was racing.

Jeremy let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck before looking at you again. His eyes flickered down—just briefly—to where his hoodie still hung loosely on your frame.

You hugged it closer, suddenly hyper-aware of how it smelled like him.

“You want something to drink?” Jeremy asked, his voice rougher than before.

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

Silence stretched between you again.

You knew you should say something light, something normal, to break the tension, but your brain wasn’t cooperating.

Because Jeremy was looking at you like that again.

Like he was fighting something.

Like he was dangerously close to losing.

Your pulse jumped.

Jeremy exhaled sharply and turned away, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t let guys talk to you like that,” he muttered, his voice tighter than before.

“I didn’t let Matt do anything,” you pointed out, watching him carefully.

Jeremy huffed. “I know. I just…” His shoulders tensed, his hands clenching at his sides. “It pissed me off.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Jeremy let out a breath through his nose. “I don’t want guys thinking they can just—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t want him thinking that.”

The air felt impossibly thick.

You took a cautious step closer. “Jeremy.”

He turned, eyes locking onto yours, and that was when you saw it. 

The frustration, the tension, the lingering anger from earlier. But mostly, you saw how much he wanted you.

Something in your chest tightened.

You barely had time to process it before he was suddenly right in front of you, his fingers brushing the hem of his hoodie where it hung loosely over your thighs.

“Looks better on you than it does on me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your pulse quickening. “You said that already.”

His fingers curled into the fabric, his proximity almost overwhelming. You could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the lingering hint of beer from the party.

His eyes flickered down to your lips.

Your breath hitched.

And then—finally—his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was heat and frustration, all the pent-up feelings spilling over in an instant.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he pressed you back against the hallway wall. You barely had time to react before he was crowding into your space, his body pressing against yours.

You tangled your fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, as his groan vibrated against your lips. His grip on your waist tightened like he was afraid to let go, his desperation evident.

Maybe he needed to prove something to himself.

Maybe he needed to prove that you were his.

Maybe he was done pretending otherwise.

Your heart hammered, and a warmth bloomed deep in your stomach as you kissed him back, eager, breathless.

Jeremy finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was dark and intense, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice rough.

You swallowed, your breath still unsteady. “About what?”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer.

“About not wanting other guys to think they can have you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you refused to look away, locking eyes with him as you bit your lip.

“And what if I don’t want them?” you teased, voice barely a whisper, daring him.

His eyes flickered, his fingers tilting your chin upward as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

“Then you should probably tell me who you do want,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped, your heart thudding in your chest as you met his gaze, your voice low, barely a whisper.

“You.”

Jeremy’s eyes darken and his hands move to your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You gasp into the kiss as your feet leave the ground, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. The motion is quick, almost instinctual, and you can't help but wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he walks toward the stairs. His lips trail down to your jaw, kissing you in soft, heated bursts as he ascends, each step a reminder that this is real, that you’re here in his arms.

The warmth of his body against yours, the feeling of his lips moving against your skin, it makes everything else feel distant, like nothing else matters but the two of you. His lips press against your neck, and the sensation sends a shiver through your spine, your heart pounding in your chest.

By the time you reach the top of the stairs, his lips are back on yours, hungry but still gentle. He turns and kicks the door open to his room with his foot, never breaking the kiss. You feel the soft cotton of his hoodie wrap around you more securely as he carries you over the threshold and toward his bed.

As he reaches the edge of the bed, he gently lowers you onto the soft blankets, his lips lingering against yours for just a moment longer before he pulls back. His hands slide to your waist, making sure you're settled comfortably. The bed creaks slightly under your weight, but you hardly notice, lost in the depth of his gaze as he looks down at you, eyes dark with desire, but softened by something tender.

He hovers above you, his thumb brushing along your cheek as he leans down and kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every moment. His voice is barely a whisper, heavy with emotion, "I’ve wanted this... you, for so long."

His hands slid under the hem of the hoodie he’d given you, brushing the bare skin of your back, sending a shiver down your spine. You barely had time to react before he was kissing you again, slower this time, more deliberate.

Like he wasn’t just proving a point anymore. He was making a promise.

Jeremy’s hands were everywhere, his lips trailing down your jaw, kissing the side of your neck as if he were trying to memorize you, claim you in the most intimate way. Every touch sent a spark through your body, every kiss deepening the hunger you felt, the desire you’d never been able to name.

“Jer,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jeremy pulled back slightly. His lips moved down your neck, a trail of heat in their wake, and you shivered under his touch. His hands roamed lower, brushing below the waistline of your jeans, his touch careful, testing how far you were willing to go.

The tension was unbearable, but neither of you wanted to break it.

"Jeremy," you whispered again, your voice a mix of desire and hesitation.

He pulled back slightly, his lips just a breath away from yours. His gaze was dark, his pupils dilated as if he were barely holding on. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice strained.

You met his eyes, heart pounding in your chest. “Are you?” you whispered, grinning up at him.

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of vulnerability—you both knew there was no turning back.

"Yeah," he breathed, his hands pulling you closer. "I’m sure."

You didn’t want to stop.

The world around you faded away as your lips met his again, desperate, fervent, as if this was the only thing that mattered. The kiss is deeper, pulling you closer as his tongue gently brushes against your lips. You don’t hesitate to respond, your breath mingling with his as his kiss grows more insistent, coaxing you into the moment. His tongue moves slowly, carefully, exploring.

The air between you is thick with desire, charged with something neither of you wanted to deny. Slowly, his shirt tugged up and was pulled over his head, and you could feel the warmth of his chest press against you. He pulled away slightly, his breath heavy as he looked at you—his lips swollen from the intensity of your kiss.

His hands slide up your back, this time pushing the hoodie off your shoulders, and it falls to the floor without either of you acknowledging it. His lips moved back down your neck, each kiss leaving a mark, a promise that you would both carry with you.

"God, you're killing me," Jeremy murmured, his voice strained with barely restrained desire.

Your heart thundered, and you leaned forward, capturing his lips with your own, placing your hands on both sides of his face. 

You could feel the intensity building, each movement more frantic as you tried to pull him closer, your fingers trailing down his chest. Jeremy’s hands roamed lower, his touch teasing, brushing against the waistband of your jeans before his lips moved to your collarbone, kissing with intent, leaving marks.

But then—

You both froze.

The sound of the front door closing downstairs reached you, followed by the muffled sound of voices.

Jeremy tensed immediately, his breath catching in his throat. You pulled back slightly, eyes darting to the door as the voices filtered up the stairs.

“Do you hear that?” Jeremy muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

You nodded, feeling the pressure of the moment slip through your fingers. His hands slowly dropped from your waist, and the tension between you thickened.

“My sister’s home,” he murmured, his voice tight. “I don’t—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but you could feel his hesitation, his conflict.

You stayed silent for a beat, just staring at him, chest still rising and falling with every breath. His gaze flickered between you and the door, but he didn’t move closer. He stayed a respectful distance away, the space between you now thick with unspoken words.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whispered, your hand brushing his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

He glanced down at your hand, then back up at you. “Me either,” he confessed, his voice soft but rough.

But the distance between you both lingered, the moment shifting as reality encroached once again. You smiled softly, your fingers brushing his jaw as you locked eyes with him. 

Jeremy let out a frustrated sigh, resting his forehead against yours for a second before reluctantly pulling away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands still gripping your waist like he wasn't ready to let go.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lingering ache of want as you tried to sit up. "I should probably go," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeremy's hand caught yours before you could move. "Wait," he said softly, his fingers tightening around yours. His eyes, still dark with unspoken emotions, searched yours. "Stay. Just for a little while."

You hesitated, heart hammering as you looked at him. His shirt was still off, his hair messily tousled from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. But beneath all of that, there was something deeper in his gaze, something raw, pleading.

Wordlessly, you nodded.

Jeremy exhaled, as if relieved, and gently pulled you back onto the bed. He wrapped an arm around you, tucking you close against him, his bare skin warm against yours. His heartbeat was steady now, a comforting rhythm beneath your palm as your fingers traced lazy circles over his chest.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

His fingers skimmed up and down your back, slow and soothing, as your body relaxed against him. The tension from before still lingered in the air, but now it was softer, quieter. You felt the weight of his arm drape over your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, your body melting into his warmth. Jeremy felt it happen, the moment you gave in, the way your grip on him loosened as sleep took over. 

He didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb the moment.

Instead, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head, holding you just a little tighter.

"Just for a little while," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Masterlist | TVD Masterlist | Jeremy playlist

a/n: I literally have so many Jeremy x reader fics drafted! I want to post them all so badly <3

Likes, reblogs, and follows are never expected but greatly appreciated! These let me know I should keep on doing what I’m doing! (:

Taglist: @imanewsoul @s0urw00lf

Let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist <3

[klausysworld]

request for klaus getting off (touching himself and all) on thoughts of reader, reader isn’t actually in the chapter just in his thoughts while pleasuring

The Mere Thought Of Her.

Klaus lay quietly on his back, a sigh escaping his nose as his fingers brushed up and down the centre of his chest. God I wish it were her nails.

His eyes fluttered slightly as he considered just closing them and letting his imagination take over. 

A small grunt left him as he stretched his arm out, grabbing the little remote and flicking his music on to muffle the sounds to come. 

Klaus let go of the device and pulled the blanket over his body to the bottom of his chest to mimic the warmth of her body on his. He pulled a pillow on top of him as if to feel her softness against him. 

Both his hands rubbed up and down the length of the pillow;

So fucking soft. He squeezed it gently, then more firmly.

A faint hum left his lips as he slipped one hand under the waistband of his boxers, his fingertips brushing over his skin. 

Always so gentle. Her voice, her features, her touch.

Slowly he rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock, feeling the nerves jump to life.

A small grunt escaped his throat as he wrapped each finger round his shaft, feeling himself harden more and more.

She’d be much wetter.

He let go, reaching over to the bedside drawer without opening his eyes, grabbing the bottle of lube and pumping a generous amount into his palm before returning to his cock.

Slowly, Klaus lathered his length, feeling the lotion-like texture warm to his skin just like she would. He breathed out again through his nose and shifted slightly in his place, getting comfortable.

She’d be nervous.

He was sure of it.

But she’d be so good, I just know she’d let me guide her through it one step at a time.

His hand gripped himself a little tighter,

She’d clench so tight.

His mouth took in a deep breath as he stroked up and down steadily.

I’d have to help her, hold her hips as she went so that she could get going.

A small, blissful smile crawled upon his lips as he pictured her sweet eyes looking down at him as she followed his rhythm.

He squeezed himself every few strokes, knowing just how tight she’d get. 

Always such an eager thing, even when she didn’t know what she was doing.

Just so happy to please.

Somehow, someway her innocence seemed to remain no matter what she did. Klaus was sure he could ruin her a hundred times over but she’d still never lose that shine of perfection.

He knew she’d never stop feeling so damn good.

His head shifted backwards slightly and his lips parted for a groan to escape as his thumb rolled over his tip. 

God I need her.

A puff of air left him as his thighs stiffened momentarily, he could feel the desperation starting to build within him. The heat, the fire.

The mere thought of her was addictive.

He couldn’t help but rock his strong hips back and forth gently to meet his hand.

Not too fast, she’d fall apart too quickly.

With precision he fucked up into his hand, eyes fully closed and envisioning her glistening body on top of his and hallucinating her begging moans for him.

It made his thigh fall open to the side, his body bucking up rougher as he gripped himself so hard it almost hurt. The twist of pleasure and pain made him pant. 

The faint music did little to drown his groans and the harsh sound of his own skin meeting as he quickened. 

A few squeezes reminded him to slow, his grip loosening slightly and jerking himself steadily to keep himself at the edge.

His head rolled to the side, his neck aching slightly from the angle but he wouldn’t dare move as he drew himself closer and closer.

Faster, love.

A weak moan left Klaus before his speed picked back up, the frictions so delicious it made his thighs twitch and tremble a little with each stroke. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A long string of deep sound left his throat as he throbbed, his cock weeping down his hand as he chased that feeling he knew so well.

His other hand dug into the plush of the pillow against his skin, his fingers digging into it until it tore and feathers floated about his bed, landing on his slick skin and sticking. 

With a moan of her name a series of thick ropes of cum spilling from his head, his hand not even attempting to catch them as he gradually slowed his pace.

She’d be a good girl and draw it out.

Once he felt himself soften partially he let his heavy eyes flutter open.

His throat was dry but he still let out a long sigh as he pushed himself up to examine the extent of his mess.

His gaze flicked to his cock, his eyes closing again in annoyance as it immediately stiffened at the tiniest thought of her again.

Damn you, love. 

I can’t wait any longer to have you.

(Only a short one but still❤️)

[elijahstwink]

i also have the fantasy of fucking elijah in red door mode yooo 😳 ... but if you ever feel inspired and want to write smut abt it , Im interested in reading it ofc,, and there is also just so few red door elijah shit out there 💔

𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓖𝓸

(I’d let him punch me holy this gif is hot)

Your boyfriend is going through a rough time. You help him feel better ;)

Thank you for the request anon! I always feel like writing dark!Elijah smut so this was so fun! It’s also the freakiest thing I’ve written lol. I hope you enjoy - Dex

Warnings: Blood play, Spitting, Choking, Slapping, Oral F!receiving, Dom!Elijah, Sub!reader, Elijah’s pretty mean, overstimulation, blood drinking, degradation, use of slut, whore etc

Seperate warning for this one. This has CNC! (Aka Reader consents for Elijah not to stop when she asks him too)

Your white dress billows behind you as you sprint down the hallway and towards the red door. Your bare feet burn at each step on ragged tile. You glance back to see Elijah turn the corner. His stone cold face and bare chest are covered in blood, all emotion void from his expression. Desperation fuels your speed, your legs burning and your lungs screaming as adrenaline courses through you. Elijah follows at a steady pace, his deliberate steps echoing, his breathing animalistic. He could catch you in an instant, but he prefers the thrill of the chase. He wants to savor your fear, your pain.

His footsteps are unnervingly close as you near the door. Just a little farther…

You slam into the red wood, pain shooting through your arm as you grasp the brass doorknob. It’s locked. You pound on the door, scream, and glance back in terror as Elijah approaches.

“Elijah, please!” you plead, but he keeps coming. This isn’t your Elijah, the kind and noble man you loved. This is a monster.

You turn back to the door, pounding and screaming for help, but it’s too late. Elijah’s hand clamps onto your upper arm, yanking you toward him. You struggle, but his grip is unbreakable. His eyes darken, veins pulsing as he opens his mouth, revealing sharp fangs glinting in the darkness.

Elijah jolts upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat and trembling. Nightmares of hurting you plague him every night since the incident with his mother. The red door haunts his mind, and he can no longer ignore it.

Breathing deeply, Elijah clutches his hair and turns to watch you sleep. Usually, this sight calms him, reminding him that he isn’t the blood-covered man in his dreams. That red door Elijah is just a fragment of himself, a dark fraction everyone has.

But tonight is different. The dreams are more vivid, leaving him feeling feral and dangerous. Every small sound or touch threatens to make him lose control. He needs blood.

Elijah carefully slips out of bed, pulling on grey sweatpants. He moves silently through the dark compound, descending the staircase to the large kitchen. He rounds the island, opens the blood fridge, and light floods the dark space. He grabs three blood bags and rips into one.

As the blood overtakes his senses, veins web below his eyes. He grips the marble countertop harder, ripping open the second bag, anger rising. The taste of blood makes red door Elijah creep to the surface.

“Lijah?” you call from the doorway, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Elijah’s head snaps up, his red eyes meeting yours as the marble edge crumbles in his hand. You rush to him, but before you can reach him, he grabs you by the neck, pinning you against the wall.

Despite his aggressive state, you’re not scared. You’ve been worried for him since he returned, his personality flipping randomly between normal and red door Elijah. The worst was on Bourbon Street, when he tried to rip out a man's heart for bumping into you. Red door Elijah is possessive, never letting you out of his sight, fearing that if you walk away, he’ll start chasing you like in his dreams.

Elijah's grip on your neck is firm but not painful, and you see the conflict in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, my love,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks and tracing the veins with your fingertips until they fade.

Elijah’s eyes return to their regular onyx shade, guilt washing over him as he releases your neck and drops the empty blood bag.

“Shh, you’re alright, I’m alright,” you comfort him, wrapping your arms around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

“I- I don’t know what to do, I crave you,” Elijah growls into your skin, his fangs gently scratching along your pulse point. Your eyes shut at the contact, but an idea pops into your head. A crazy, probably stupid idea... but an idea nonetheless.

“Perhaps you need to release all the pent up anger.” You suggest carefully. Elijah pulls away from your neck and stares at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He places his hands on the wall either side of your head, keeping you trapped against him. You can tell by the look in his eye that he definitely knows what you mean.

“I mean,” You rest your hand flat on Elijah’s bare chest, sliding it down to cup him over his sweatpants. “Let go, take it all out on me.” You gaze up at him innocently, something you know drives him nuts. Elijah swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“No y/n. I wouldn’t be myself, I could hurt you.” Elijah shakes his head, already feeling his alternate personality taking control as his cock thickens under your touch.

“That’s the thing, you won’t hurt me. And as soon as you prove that to yourself, you can start to move past this.” You explain, slipping your hand under his waistband and taking hold of his erection, his length warm in you grasp.

You completely believe what you’re telling him. You know that he would never hurt you if not for pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you feeling like this may be a mistake. After all, Elijah is pretty dominant in bed already. If normal Elijah can edge you for hours or make you cum so much you’re begging for him to stop. Who knows what red door Elijah will do.

“Do you kn-“ Elijah interrupts himself with a deep groan as you push his pants to his feet and bring your unoccupied hand down to play with his balls, rolling them between your fingers. You can’t tear your gaze from his swollen cock and the bead of arousal gathering at the tip as wetness builds between your legs. You could mentally pat yourself on the back right now for not dropping to your knees and licking it up.

He suddenly grips your wrist, rough enough to leave a mark, making you gasp in surprise and release your hold on him. When you look up, you see that his eyes have returned to that crimson shade with veins underneath them. He grabs your neck with his free hand and leans down till your faces are inches apart.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” He breaths against your lips, tightening his hold when you nod. “Words.” He commands sternly.

“Yes, Elijah.” You squeak. He smirks at you, the veins flowing under his eyes.

“And you are aware that if you say stop, I won’t.” Elijah growls. You can tell he’s holding back, needing your consent before doing anything more.

“I know. I want you…” You murmur, bravely grabbing at his crotch again before whispering in his ear, “to ruin me.”

You can visibly see when red door Elijah fully takes over, any apprehension within him vanishes as he suddenly rips your night gown off your body and steps out of his pants, leaving you both naked.

“I didn’t mean here!” You whisper, looking around anxiously. The kitchen is one of the main rooms of the compound. If anyone were to wake up it’s highly likely they’d come to this room.

You squeak as Elijah lifts you onto the centre island and pushes you to lay flat on it. The cold marble countertop against your back sends chills down your spine as Elijah stands between your legs. His eyes are clouded,

“What if someone walks in?” You ask as Elijah bends your knees so that your feet are on the counter and your core is exposed. Elijah doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the last blood bag and holding it over you with a smirk.

You don’t have time to even question what the hell he’s planning before he rips the plastic in half with his hands, drenching you in blood. God this man is lucky you love him because no other human would still be turned on while covered in blood. Elijah leans down so you are face to face, his chest is getting covered in blood now as well.

“If anyone walks in here,” Elijah dips a finger between your breasts, “I’ll snap their neck.” He growls, sucking on his now bloody finger, moaning at the taste.

Red door Elijah doesn’t seem to be the slow and steady type. His movements are rough and almost crazed as he grips your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Now eye level with your blood covered cunt, Elijah doesn’t hesitate to practically devour you. The filthy sound of his mouth slurping up the mix of blood and arousal between your folds echoes throughout the kitchen. You release a choked moan as he sucks harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Normal Elijah usually starts soft and gradually builds your pleasure to its peak. So this unfamiliar pace fills you with an uncomfortable sensitivity, causing you to grip his hair in both your hands and try to push his head away. Elijah releases a disapproving grunt at your actions. He moves his grip from your thighs to your wrists and pins them straight down at your sides. Your hands clench helplessly at the sleek countertop in an attempt to find something to grip as you squirm with oversensitivity.

When your wrists are tugged on slightly, you lift your head for the first time to watch the man between your legs. Elijah’s face is coloured crimson and veins are moving beneath his skin. A whimper passes your lips when his tongue thrusts inside you and his red eyes meet yours. His gaze is intense and demanding, practically shouting ‘behave’. You throw your head back against the marble with a loud moan as Elijah starts fucking you with his tongue. The feeling of the pointed muscle curling against your sweet spot has you arching your back. Sharp stabs of overstimulation are turning into waves of pleasure, causing you to clench your thighs around his head.

“E-Elijah I’m so close.” You wail, all your pleasure knotting together, building up in your lower stomach. Elijah hums in approval, his tongue working faster. and his nose nudging against your clit. Your moans increase in pitch as you’re brought closer to the edge, your hips jerking and your legs starting to shake. It doesn’t take more then a few thrusts of Elijah’s tongue against the spongy spot inside you before you’re coming, wailing in pleasure and practically grinding on your boyfriends face as you get lost in the euphoric feeling. Your legs are almost vibrating with the intensity of their shaking and your walls are pulsating around Elijah’s tongue as you come down from your orgasm.

Elijah pulls away quite suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on your wrists and dropping your legs from his shoulders. “Stand up.” He orders, taking a step backwards. You would have given him a ‘are your serious right now?’ type of look, if you weren’t too out of it. Instead you stay lying across the counter, trembling as you come down from your high. After a moment of silence you manage to speak out, “Elijah, Can’t.”.

“I said,” he grabs you under your arms and hauls you upwards so you are standing on shaking legs, all your weight being supported by him, “stand up.” He seethes, releasing his grip.

Your knees instantly buckle underneath you and you fall into Elijah’s chest. You would have hit the ground if not for him wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you against his chest and smirking at your feeble state.

“My naughty girl,” Elijah tugs your hair so that your head swings back, your eyes meeting his, “can’t even follow a simple task, hm?” He taunts.

His face has returned to normal, and he seems to have wiped the blood from around his mouth at some point. Elijah’s eyes are clouded with more than lust and you can see the red door version of him staring back at you. He usually talks much more during sex, and you can’t deny that you miss the comforting praise.

That thought is literally smacked away as Elijah’s palm meets your cheek in a light slap. You probably look like an idiot for a split second as you process what he just did.. and how much you liked it. You release a drawn out moan as he repeats the action before grabbing your jaw, holding your head up to his and smirking.

“Do you like that?” Elijah chuckles as you flush in embarrassment.

“If you wish to act like a slut, then I will treat you as such. Open.” He growls, pulling at your jaw as you open your mouth. Red Door Elijah is seemingly full of surprises, as he lines up his mouth with yours and spits. The feeling of someone else’s spit in your mouth would likely make you throw up. But this was Elijah, your boyfriend and the love of your life so of course it feels good. A rush of arousal wets your spent cunt as you gurgle slightly.

Elijah clamps your mouth shut, grinning like a maniac as he instructs you “Swallow,” The slide of his spit down your throat makes you moan, absolutely loving the filthiness of his actions, “Good girl.” He praises you for the first time, giving your jaw a light squeeze before releasing it.

The praise is gone as quickly as it came when Elijah spins you around, bending you over the counter. You gasp at the coldness against your sensitive nipples. He holds your hip with one hand, the other guiding his erect cock through your shiny folds. The pleasure of Elijah nudging your clit with every upstroke distracts you from the feeling on blood slowly drying on your skin.

Your mouth drops in surprise, screaming out as Elijah suddenly enters you in one bruising thrust and with no warning. The stretch is painful, but you’re wet enough that he slides in easily. Your hand shoots behind you on reflex, pushing hard against his torso. Elijah only chuckles at your pathetic attempt of pushing him away, grabbing your wrist and holding it behind your back.

“Too much Elijah, please just wait!” You plead when you feel him starting to move inside you, blood smearing the whit marble underneath you.

“Shh, take it.” Elijah shushes, not waiting for you to adjust before slamming into you again, his tip pressing against your cervix and causing you to sob out a moan. With every battering thrust of his hips, the loud clap of skin meeting skin fills the room.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before the pain dulls into a numbing ache and the pleasure overwhelms you. You’re moaning like a whore, taking every inch of his thick cock inside you, your walls fluttering around him. The way his shaft glides across your g spot makes you jerk with pleasure.

“That’s it, such a sweet little slut falling apart on my cock.” He coos, releasing your hand and pulling you up till your back meets his chest. He wraps his arm around your neck so your chin rests on his bicep and keeps working his hips back and forth, fucking into you in long, brutal strokes. The base of his cock throbs every time he bottoms out, and his balls slap against your slit with wet, filthy noises. His animalistic grunts mix with your cries of pleasure.

“Still too much for you?” He teases, laughing when his only response is a gurgle of incoherent words that you didn’t even notice came from your mouth. “Yeah?” He murmurs, pounding into you at an inhuman speed.

Elijah rests his other hand on your blood stained lower stomach, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Who do you belong to?” Elijah whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Who owns this cunt, y/n?” He runs the tips of his fingers over your clit.

“Y-you Elijah!” You sob, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure this man is giving you.

“That’s my girl.” Elijah praises before bringing his hand down hard on your clit. Surprisingly it wasn’t painful at all. You heard the smack before you felt it and suddenly you were gushing around his cock, the mix of his cock rubbing at your walls and the sharp pleasure to your clit plummeting you into an unexpected orgasm. Your eyes go blurry from tears as you squirt all over the counter and floor. Euphoria runs through you in a single wave as your walls uncontrollably pulsate around Elijah.

“Look at you, cumming on my cock like a good little girl. Making such a mess.” Elijah’s groans, pulling out of you suddenly. You whine at the loss, feeling your slick cunt clench at the air. Elijah turns you to face him before bending down and hooking his arms under your legs. You squeal as he lifts you up, essentially folding you in half as your knees touch your shoulders. Elijah’s hands cup your arse, and you wrap your own around his neck. He shows no strain as he holds you in mid air, turning you both so he can lean slightly against the counter.

You throw your head back and clench your eyes shut as Elijah pushes inside you again, the sensitivity of having just cum causing you to claw harshly at his back.

“Elijah, stop!” You call out, the overstimulation feeling like too much. He doesn’t listen, not that you were expecting him too.

You’re absolutely helpless as he starts moving you up and down his length, using you like some type of fuck doll. You fidget and squirm relentlessly in an attempt to make him stop.

“Look at me!” Elijah barks. You use the little strength you have to lift your head, meeting his intense and feral gaze. “You are going to shut up, take my cock and you’re going to fucking enjoy it. Do you understand?” He sneers, slowing down so you can catch your breath and come up with a coherent sentence. You’ve never heard Elijah speak so vulgar before and it strangely turns you on.

You know that if you put up enough of a fight, your Elijah would come back and stop immediately. He’d probably beat himself up with guilt while he holds you and apologises way too many times. But you don’t want Elijah to feel bad, you asked him to do this in the first place.

“I understand, wanna take it.” You rush out before crashing your lips onto his, you can feel his grin as you try to shove your tongue into his mouth. He parts his lips for you and you whimper when he sucks heavily on your tongue.

Elijah thrusts his hips up erratically, his thrusts reaching vampire speed as his climax steadily approaches. You break the kiss to bury your face in his neck when you feel your own rising in your gut.

Elijah lifts one hand to grip your hair and pull your head back to present your neck. Searing pain rushes through you as his fangs pierce your skin, mixing with the pleasure of his thrusts. Your vision goes black as your third orgasm of the night crushes you. The feeling of Elijah’s cum filling your tight cunt only prolongs your pleasure. You feel Elijah retreat from your neck as his moans fill the air, mixing with what you realise is your own screams.

Elijah slips out of you when his cock stops spurting, feeling the aggressive, lust filled haze of red door Elijah dissolving with every passing moment. He sits you on the counter momentarily to unhook his arms from underneath your legs. Then he lifts your trembling form back into his embrace, one hand holding your bum for support and the other cradling your head into his neck. Your grip around him loosens as you continue riding the waves of pleasure, shaking like a leaf in his hold.

Elijah chuckles endearingly as you moan into his neck. “Still coming baby?” He grins, kissing the top of your head. You manage a small whimper of agreement as you feel him start to walk somewhere.

Thank god for vampire speed, because Elijah has you in a warm shower within the minute. You rest against him, half asleep, as he washes the dried blood off your skin. After you are both clean and dry, you settle under the covers of your bed, cuddled up to the love of your life.

“Please tell me you don’t regret it.” Elijah mumbles into your hair. You release a tired laugh, your face pressed against his chest.

“No my love, I don’t regret it at all. Did it help?” You yawn, cuddling further into his comforting embrace.

“Definitely.” Elijah sighed, his mind feeling a lot calmer and his body tired. You tilt your head up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Love you lijah.” You smile into the kiss as you speak. Elijah copies your grin as he responds, “Love you so much baby.”. He gives you one last peck before leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes, waiting till he hears your cute snores before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The couple are passed out cold by morning, still recovering from their late night. Klaus however, is very much awake as he stumbles into the living room, where Freya and Kol are engaged in an intense game of chess.

“Do not go into the kitchen!” Klaus gags, collapsing onto the couch in a dramatic heap. “And remind me to kill both Elijah and Y/N.”.

T A G L I S T (msg or comment to be on it)

@b1tchy

[cece693]

Oh can I request a Male reader x Kol, Elijah, and Klaus Mikaelson where the Mikaelson's are highly protective of M reader

Mikaelsons Whore

pairing: kol, klaus, and elijah mikaelson x male reader tags: vulgar language, elena being the 'righteous' queen, basically Elena being her whinny self, human male reader, the mikaelson family loves you

Elena was the golden child—the popular girl and Mystic Falls’ most recognized individual. It was all too easy for you to slip into the background and just be labeled as “the other Gilbert.” Your younger brother Jeremy understood how that felt; he maintained a better relationship with you than Elena ever did. Still, even Jeremy couldn’t begin to fathom what drew you to side with the Mikaelsons—or how you managed to fall in love with not one, but three of the brothers, each dangerous in their own way. Ironically, the most feared and powerful family in history had shown you more warmth than anyone else in town. Rebekah, in particular, became the sister figure you had always needed and never truly found in Elena.

When word of your involvement with the Mikaelsons spread through Mystic Falls, the backlash was swift and merciless. Elena made her disapproval painfully clear by storming into your bedroom, practically foaming at the mouth, and demanding to know why you had betrayed her—as though your love life was hers to dictate. The Salvatore brothers, blinded by loyalty to your sister, declared that the Originals must have compelled you, never even pausing to consider that you might be spending time with them of your own free will.

Bonnie’s disapproval came as no shock—she was Elena’s best friend, after all—but Caroline’s reaction stung the most. You had always admired her warmth and optimism, so hearing her spew the word whore cut more deeply than you ever expected. Still, you knew where her bitterness stemmed from: she craved love, and watching yet another potential romance slip through her fingers had turned her despair into anger.

When your lovers—Klaus, Elijah, and Kol—heard about the way the town was talking, their reactions weren’t pretty. Klaus’s protective streak flared; you could feel the rage rolling off of him in waves as he threatened to make everyone in Mystic Falls pay for the insults. Elijah, always calm and composed, simmered with a cold fury that was somehow even more terrifying. And Kol, mischievous and volatile at the best of times, seemed eager to teach your tormentors a lesson about mocking his beloved.

But even if your family and friends had turned against you and spewed hatred, you refused to let your lovers make a scene. You understood their position, but at the end of the day, you naively believed that Elena and your friends would come around and be happy for you. This naivety was a mistake. "I'll be back soon," you murmured, smiling up at Klaus, who was visibly upset about the whole situation. He had proposed that he or one of his brothers accompany you to meet with Elena, but upon your insistence, they had reluctantly agreed to let you handle things alone.

"I'll be just a call away," Klaus conceded, his voice stern, leaving no room for negotiation on that point.

As you turned to leave, Klaus stepped forward and gently lifted your chin, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead—a gesture that spoke volumes of his love and concern. "Be careful," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the swell of emotions.

With one last reassuring nod, you left the safety of the Mikaelson home and headed towards the Mystic Grill. Upon your arrival, Elena greeted you with a serene smile. "I'm glad you came," she said, guiding you to a booth tucked away in the corner. The atmosphere was casual, the familiar buzz of the Grill around you almost comforting. She ordered drinks, and when yours arrived, you didn't think twice before taking a sip, trusting that your sister truly wanted to make amends.

However, as the evening progressed, you began to feel unusually drowsy and disoriented. The lights of the bar grew bothersome, and just as you tried to ask Elena to call Klaus, darkness enveloped you. When you regained consciousness, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, hands and feet bound. The Salvatore brothers and Bonnie were there, their expressions a mix of stern determination and misguided hope.

"We're going to fix this," Damon declared, his tone brooking no argument as he glanced at Bonnie.

Bonnie, her face pinched in concentration, approached with a collection of herbs and crystals. "I'm sorry. This will hurt, but it's for your own good."

Your eyes darted from person to person, hoping that your visible fright might make them reconsider their decision, but no one stepped forward. Elena stood beside Bonnie, murmuring something about getting her brother back, but then pain engulfed you. Thrashing in the chair, the ropes digging into your wrists, you let out screams of agony. You didn't know how much time passed as you screamed, but it was evident you were under no spell. "Klaus! Elijah! Kol!" you began to scream, hoping they would save you from this torment, but relief was slow to come, and you fell unconscious once again.

When you woke again, the surroundings were markedly different from the harsh, dimly lit room of your ordeal. The plush comfort of a familiar bed enveloped you, the soft linens smelling faintly of lavender and sage—an aroma that always soothed your nerves. The opulent room bathed in the gentle light of late afternoon told you that you were back at the Mikaelson mansion. As your eyes adjusted, you saw Klaus, Elijah, and Kol surrounding your bed, their faces etched with concern but visibly relieved to see you awake.

Kol was the first to notice your eyes fluttering open. "He's awake," he announced softly, his usual mischievous tone subdued.

Elijah, ever the composed one, approached with a glass of water, his movements graceful and careful. "How do you feel?" he asked gently as he helped you sit up to sip the water, his hand supporting your back.

Klaus, who had been standing by the window watching you with an intense gaze, came over and sat on the edge of the bed. His hand found yours, squeezing it reassuringly. "You're safe now, back home with us," he murmured, the relief palpable in his voice.

You looked between them, trying to piece together what had happened after your memory cut off. "What…what happened after I passed out?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

The brothers exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. It was Klaus who spoke, choosing his words with care. "You were in a bad state when we found you. We made sure no one could harm you again," he explained vaguely, not delving into the specifics of their retribution.

Elijah added, "Our priority is your recovery. You've been through a tremendous ordeal." He gently adjusted the bandages on your wrist where the ropes had left marks.

Kol’s expression darkened with the memory of your pain. "Let’s just say they won’t be bothering you—or anyone else—ever again," he added, though his tone was nonchalant, trying to shield you from the violent truths.

You sensed there was more they weren’t telling you, but the exhaustion pulling at your limbs and the comfort of being surrounded by your protectors allowed you to set aside these thoughts for now. Gratitude filled your chest as you looked at each of them, their presence a tangible reminder of their commitment to you. "Thank you," you whispered, feeling overwhelmed and a bit adrift. "For coming for me."

"Always," Klaus responded firmly, his thumb brushing over your hand. "We will always come for you."

[ocpotluck]

[PT 2/4]Happy Pride🌈 @reyofluke-ocs

[girlkisser13]

going on your first date with the tvdu men would include

damon salvatore

• damon would likely choose a secluded and romantic location, perhaps the mystic grill for a drink, followed by a surprise trip to a hidden spot in the woods or a beautiful clearing with a view of the stars.

• he would pick you up in his blue convertible, making the journey to your date part of the experience, complete with playful banter and a perfectly curated playlist.

• expect witty and flirty conversation. we all know damon LOVES to tease, but he’d also be surprisingly attentive, showing genuine interest in getting to know you better.

• he’d most likely choose your drink for you, something you’d end up loving, showcasing his impeccable taste. if the date involves food, he’d make sure it’s something special, perhaps even cooking for you at his house.

• if the moment felt right, damon will suggest dancing. whether it’s a slow dance in the woods under the stars or a playful dance at the grill, he’d make it unforgettable.

• at the end of the date, damon would walk you to your door. his goodbye would be lingering, leaving you eager for the next time you see him. he’d probably leave you with a teasing comment or a promise of more to come.

elijah mikaelson

• elijah would choose an elegant and sophisticated location, a high-end restaurant with a stunning view or a private, luxurious setting that exudes old school harm.

• he’d OBVIOUSLY show up dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, reflecting his refined and timeless style. every detail of his appearance would be perfect, from his cufflinks to his neatly styled hair.

• elijah would send a classic car to pick you up, or he would arrive himself, ready to escort you to your date with utmost courtesy.

• elijah would be genuinely interested in your thoughts, opinions, and experiences. he’d share fascinating stories from his centuries-long life, offering glimpses into his past while keeping an air of mystery.

• elijah is the epitome of a gentleman. he’d hold doors open for you, help you with your coat, and ensure you feel cherished and respected throughout the evening.

• he would bring you a thoughtful gift, such as a bouquet of rare flowers or a book that he thinks you’d love, showing his attention to detail and consideration.

• elijah would choose the finest cuisine and wine, making sure everything is of the highest quality. he’d ensure the meal is a culinary experience, with each course carefully selected to delight your palate.

• he would engage you in conversations about art, history, literature, and culture, revealing his vast knowledge and passion for these subjects.

• while elijah is a perfect gentleman, there’s always an underlying sense of his power and ability to protect you. you’d feel safe and secure in his presence, knowing he’d go to great lengths to ensure your well-being.

• at the end of the date, elijah would walk you to your door, ensuring you’re safely home. his goodbye would be tender and sincere, perhaps with a gentle kiss on your hand or a soft brush of his lips against your cheek, leaving you enchanted and eager for the next time you meet.

kol mikaelson

• kol would choose a fun and unpredictable location for your date. this could range from a vibrant bar in the french quarter, to a late-night carnival, or even a spontaneous adventure like breaking into an abandoned mansion for some exploring.

• kol would either show up in a flashy car or decide to take you for a walk through the lively streets of new orleans, there’s no in between.

• kol is all about living in the moment. he might suggest impromptu activities, like dancing in the street to a nearby musician’s tunes or trying some exotic food from a street vendor.

• there’s always a touch of mischief with kol. he might pull a harmless prank or engage in a bit of friendly competition, such as challenging you to a game of pool or darts at a local bar.

• kol wouldn’t hide his vampire nature; instead, he’d use it to impress you. he’d show off his speed, strength, and compel the bartender to give you both free drinks.

• the date would be filled with energy and excitement. kol’s enthusiasm is contagious, and he’d ensure you’re constantly entertained and engaged, never a dull moment.

• at the end of the date, kol would walk you home, making sure you’re safely inside. his goodbye would be flirty and full of promise, perhaps with a lingering kiss or a playful comment about your next adventure together.

jeremy gilbert

• jeremy would choose a casual and comfortable location, like a cozy café, a local diner, or a peaceful spot by the lake for a picnic.

• jeremy is a good listener and would be interested in learning about your passions, dreams, and experiences.

• jeremy would suggest doing something fun and interactive, like visiting an arcade, going for a hike, or even attending a local concert. he’d want to create a memorable experience that’s enjoyable for both of you.

• jeremy’s an artist so he might even take you to a local art gallery, or he could even bring his sketchbook and show you some of his sketches (they’re honestly probably all sketches of you).

• jeremy would choose a place with good, hearty food— nothing too fancy, but something that feels comforting and satisfying. if you’re having a picnic, he’d pack a basket with some of his favorite snacks and drinks.

• he also loves being outdoors, so he might take you to a beautiful, secluded spot in nature.

• at the end of the date, jeremy would walk you to your door and make sure you’re safely inside. his goodbye would be sweet and sincere, leaving you feeling cared for and excited for the next time you see him.

malachai "kai" parker

• kai would choose an unconventional and adventurous location. this could range from exploring an old, abandoned building to a spontaneous road trip to a nearby town. he loves to keep things exciting and unpredictable.

• there’s always a sense of mischief with kai. he would definitely suggest something dangerous or illegal, like sneaking into a restricted area or trying out a thrilling activity. he enjoys pushing boundaries and seeing how far you’re willing to go.

• kai wouldn’t shy away from using his magic. he might perform small, impressive spells to amuse you or use his powers to enhance the date, like creating a magical light show or conjuring up something special.

• kai would take you to a unique, offbeat restaurant or café, somewhere with a cool vibe and interesting menu. he’d make sure the experience is memorable and out of the ordinary.

• at the end of the date, kai would walk you to your door with a mix of playful charm and genuine interest. his goodbye would be intriguing and magnetic, perhaps with a lingering touch or a cryptic comment that leaves you wanting more.

niklaus "klaus" mikaelson

• klaus would choose a sophisticated and exclusive location, like a private rooftop dinner with a stunning view of the city, a hidden garden, or a historic site. he loves grandeur and would want to impress you with a memorable setting.

• klaus would pick you up in a luxurious car, ensuring you travel in comfort and style. the journey would be smooth and filled with engaging conversation, making you feel at ease and intrigued.

• klaus is well-read and knowledgeable, and he’d be genuinely interested in your thoughts and experiences. he’d share fascinating stories from his long life, providing glimpses into his complex personality.

• klaus is a master of romantic gestures. he’d bring you a bouquet of rare flowers, arrange for a talented musician to play a private concert, or surprise you with a beautifully handwritten note expressing his admiration.

• klaus has a deep appreciation for art and culture. he might take you to an art gallery, a classical music concert, or even show you some of his own artwork. he’d love to share his passions with you and see your reactions.

• klaus has a penetrating gaze that can make you feel like the only person in the world. throughout the date, he’d often lock eyes with you, never looking away until you do.

• his protective nature would be evident. he’d ensure you feel safe and cared for at all times, subtly asserting his strength and willingness to defend you if needed.

• klaus is a gentleman at heart. he’d open doors for you, pull out your chair, and be attentive to your needs, ensuring you feel respected and cherished.

• at the end of the date, klaus would walk you to your door. his goodbye would be lingering and filled with promise, perhaps with a gentle kiss on your hand or a soft brush of his lips against yours, leaving you yearning for more.

stefan salvatore

• stefan would choose a charming, low-key location for your first date. this might be a quaint café, a scenic park, or a cozy restaurant with a relaxed atmosphere where you can talk and connect.

• he’d pick you up in his car, making sure the ride is pleasant and comfortable. he might even play a soft playlist to set a relaxed mood.

• stefan is thoughtful and would likely bring a small, meaningful gift, like a single flower or a favorite book he thinks you’d enjoy. he values the little things that show he’s paying attention.

• stefan would plan a thoughtful activity, such as a stroll through a picturesque park, a visit to a local art exhibit, or a casual outing to a farmers' market, where you can explore and talk.

• he’d pay close attention to your preferences and needs, ensuring you’re comfortable and having a good time. if you mention a favorite food or drink, he’d remember and include it in the date.

• stefan’s demeanor is kind and respectful. he’d open doors for you, offer his arm while walking, and be attentive without being overwhelming, showing his genuine respect and care.

• rather than grand gestures, stefan plan a quiet moment to watch the sunset together or find a peaceful spot where you can talk privately.

• at the end of the date, stefan would walk you to your doorstep. his goodbye would be heartfelt, leaving you with a feeling of warmth and anticipation for the next time you see him.

[mystic-klaus]

𐙚 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙹𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝙶𝚒𝚕𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𐙚 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚋𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜

𐙚 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝙰 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛

“I’m going to need you here.” Stefan points to the map as he looks at you, “Damon and I will go in, retrieve the book for Bonnie, and then we’ll be out.”

“It’s an in and out job, easy.” Damon shrugs, “What does Bonnie need this book for anyway?”

You stare at Damon, “Do you ever listen?”

“What? I’m sorry.” He smirks as he rolls his eyes, “Yes, I listen, I must have just missed-“

“It’s basically a how to kill a hybrid spell book.” Jeremy cuts Damon off. A smile grows on your face, “What are you doing here?” He shrugs as he walks over, “Bonnie called, said you guys might need some help.”

“I’m glad she did. Having two guards is better than one.” Stefan glances at you, “No offense.”

You shrug, “None taken.” You look back over at Jermey and he walks up, “So the plan is y/n and I stand guard while you guys go in? Do you think anyone will show up?”

“Hoping not. Bonnie will do the spell to allow us to pull it from its box and we’ll be out..” Stefan hums, “ten minutes tops.”

You nod, “Alright.” You take a deep breath, “Let’s do this.”

You arrive at the destination, it was almost dark out, so you were hoping this wouldn’t take long. You got out of the car, listening in for anything around and you tap the car, “All clear.”

Everyone else files out and Jermey walks up to you, “How’d you get roped into helping?”

“One of Klaus’ minions got their hands on me. Almost killed me.” You look at him and his face falls, “I’m sorry.” You shake your head, “I’m fine. I ended up getting away, but I’m sure he’s still out there.”

He nods and Damon vamps to you, “If you guys are done with the chit chat, we gotta move.”

You follow everyone into the woods, coming to a giant rock that’s sticking up out of the ground. You go to it, helping Stefan slide it off of the entrance to the tomb.

“Is that it?” Jeremy asks and you nod, “They have to climb down this ladder.” You bend down and open the hatch, “Should be down and to the left.”

Stefan looks around, “alright. Damon. Come on. Bonnie should have already done the spell by now.” You watch as they climb down into the tomb, turning to look at Jeremy, “So.”

“If you’re going to rag on me about not saying goodbye, can you do it when this is over?” He laughs and you shrug, “Who’s to say you won’t just vanish again?”

He laughs some more, a noise in the woods shutting you both up instantly.

“What was that?” You ask quietly, “No one else knows this is here.”

“Well look who we have here.”

Jeremy pulls his bow up, but the guy vamps to you, holding you in front of him, “Let her go.”

“No can do. See, you’re not the only ones who knows about this book. You think a hybrid would walk around knowing there’s a way to take him out once and for all?”

“Jeremy? What’s going on up there!?” Damon yells out and Jeremy ignores him, “I said, let her go.”

You attempt to get free, but you fail, whining as the guys hand enters through your side, “N-no. No.”

Jermey steps forward, whipping around to take out another vamp as he comes at him from behind. He spins back around and steps forward, “I said, let her go. Now.”

“I missed my chance last time. I’m not missing it again this time.” He shoves his hand deeper into your side and Jeremy yells out, “You’re going to kill her!”

“That’s the point.”

Right as he’s about to go wrist deep, you bend forward, flipping him over and you shove your hand into his chest. You drop his heart as his skin dedicates, looking over at Jeremy.

“Jer!” You vamp in front of him, gasping as you take a stake to the back. He shoots the vampire, dropping his bow to help you sit down, “hold on, hold on.” He moves behind you, “One, two-“ he yanks the stake free and you let out a scream, “Fuck!”

“What? What?” He holds your shoulder, “Y/n, what is it?”

“There’s… splinters.. “ you gasp, “I can’t- ones by my heart.”

“Fuck, Damon! Stefan!” Jeremy yells, “Help me, now!”

Stefan comes out as fast as he can, “What’s going on, what-“ his eyes move to the bloodied stake beside Jeremy, “We gotta go. We gotta go now.” He looks over at the hole, “Damon!”

Damon comes up, book in his grasp, “What- shit.” He looks around, “Come on.”

Stefan picks you up, getting you to the car. The whole way home, as Damon is driving, Stefan is digging to pull all the splinters he can from your back.

Your pained screamed fill the car, your fingers sinking hard into Jeremy’s arm, you’re sure he’ll have bruises later on.

“It’s okay.” He assures, “It’s okay.” He looks up, “Stefan, are you almost done?”

“There’s a few- goddamn it.” Stefan groans, “Almost down, just-“ he digs his hand deeper into you and you rest your head on Jeremy’s chest, “Just kill me.”

“No, we aren’t doing that.” He holds you tighter, “You’re almost done.”

Stefan digs the last splinter out of your back and he sits back, “We gotta get this book, and her, somewhere safe.”

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚢

It’s been a few days and you’re still at Jeremy and Elena’s lake house. Stefan, Damon, and Bonnie have been trying to figure out why they’re targeting you, but as of right now, no luck.

Jeremy hasn’t left, but he’s been acting weird, which was odd because you and Jeremy were best friends. You’ve click day one and nothing has changed since that day.

It was late, two thirty six when you looked at the clock on the wall. You heard noise coming from outside, which prompted you to get up. You walked over to Jeremy’s room, but he wasn’t there.

You walked out to the living room, no sign of him.

“Jer?” You called out, wrapping your arms around yourself, “Hello?”

You walked over to the door, peaking out of the window, but no sign of him. You closed your eyes, listening in, and you heard the familiar sound of a crossbow firing.

You walk to the back, pushing the door open and walking out onto the deck. You turn to the left, slowly making your way over when you see Jeremy bring his bow up.

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” You question, catching his attention. He shakes his head, mumbling, “No.”

You furrow your brows, walking down to him, “Okay. I’ll bite.” You watch as he puts another arrow on his bow, “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I just-“ he brings his bow up, firing at a target, “Want to stay on my aim, you know?”

“That’s not what’s going on.” You tilt your head, “You’ve been weird ever since we got here, and you’re not one to be weird towards me.”

“I’m fine, y/n. Just, go back to bed.”

“No.”

“Y/n.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re out here, at two thirty in the morning practicing your aim.” You cross your arms and watch as he turns towards you. He stares at you for a few seconds before letting out a sigh.

“I feel like I almost lost you, y/n, and I’m pissed at myself because I’m the reason for it.” He shake his head, “When I was holding you in the car, listening to you scream while Stefan had his hand in your back, I felt helpless and at fault.” He huffs, “No, It was my fault, if I could have just gotten the shot off right away, you wouldn’t have had to go through any of that.”

“Jer-“

“I’m out here practicing because I don’t ever want to have to hear the person I care about most beg me to just kill them, I don’t ever want to hear you cry like that ever again. I can’t lose you, y/n. I can’t lose anyone else.”

“You’re not going to lose me.” You walk towards him and he shakes his head, “I don’t want to. So that’s why I’m out here, so I can-” He pauses, his eyes moving down to yours.

You furrow your brows, “so you can what?”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching your face, “I can protect the love of my life.” He leans in, closing the space by pressing his lips to yours. He pulls away slightly, “I may or may not be secretly in love with you, y/n.”

You slide your hands up to his neck, “Look at that..” you smile, “I feel the same way about you, Jeremy Gilbert.” You pull him back in and he wraps his arm around your waist, his other hand moving to grip your thigh.

He carries you inside, making his way back to his room with you kissing down his neck. He spins around, closing the door before pressing your back to it, “I’ve waited what feels like forever to hear that.”

His lips connect to yours and you tilt your head back as he makes his way down your neck. He pulls away from the door, moving to lay you down on the bed.

He sits up, pulling his sweatshirt off of his body before tossing it. You sit up to pull yours off yours, leaning in to kiss up his abdomen before lying back.

He falls forward, holding himself up with a smirk before he presses his lips to yours. You gasp as he grinds against you, tilting your head back as you breathe out, “Please, Jer. I need you.”

He moves his hand down, kissing down your neck as he slips his fingers into the band of your sweats. You moan out quietly as his fingers press to yours clothed clit, bucking your hips as he draws circles on it.

He smirks, pressing a kiss to yours cheek as his fingers slip into your panties, “Look at that.” He whispers, “You’re already so wet.”

You turn your head, crashing your lips onto his, “You just look so good confessing your love for me.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t the crossbow?” He chuckles, brows raising as he watches your face twist with pleasure as he slips two of his fingers into you. You gasp out, “That, too.” You reach up, holding his face with your hands as you pull him back in for another kiss.

He slips his hand out, moving to sit up to push his sweats down, and you follow his action. You kick yours off your legs and bite your lip as your eyes trail down his body, landing on what you need most. You sit up, vamping him over to lay down and you straddle him.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he admires your body on his, “I forget how fast you are sometimes.”

His hands grip your hips and you sink down onto his cock, gasps leaving both of your lips.

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes out, “You feel so good.”

You tilt your head, brows furrowed in pleasure as you rise up and sink back down, “Fuck, Jer.” You fall forward, hands by his head as you roll your hips back and forth.

His face twists and turns with pleasure, sliding his hand up your side to cup your cheek, “C’mere.” He pulls you down, planting his lips on yours. Your moans swap as you quicken your pace. You let out a whine as your walls clench around him, your hand sliding up to tangle your fingers into his hair.

“That’s it.” He whispers, “Fuck, baby.”

You nod, pressing kisses back his jaw line, “I love when you get all protective of me.” You nip his ear, causing him to gasp, “it’s so hot.”

His hands grip your hips tighter and he rolls over, “What can I say?” He kisses down your neck and back up, “Hate seeing other people touch my girl.”

You bite your lip, back lifting off the bed as you feel that euphoric feeling working its way in. You moan loudly, legs tightening around his waist, “Almost.. there. Fuck, yes.”

You tighten your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his. His thrusts pick up and your moans grow louder.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He whispers, “Come for me, you got it.”

You tilt your head back, brows pulled together as become a whining mess underneath him. He kisses over your face, groaning at the feeling of you letting go around him, “Fuck, you sound so pretty.”

You lay your hand on his cheek, pressing your lips to his before you roll over, “My turn to make you cum.” You sit up, hands pressed to his abdomen as you start to bounce. His eyes trail up and down your body, stopping to stare at your face.

His lips part, moans slipping out as his fingertips dig into your thighs, “Keep- fuck, yes. Keep going, baby.”

He groans loudly as he interlocks his fingers with yours, giving them a squeeze as you roll forward and back. You tilt your head back, moaning out as you quicken your pace.

“Fuck.” Jeremy grunts, “Don’t stop.”

You lean down, pressing your lips to his and his hands slide around to your ass, gripping right as he guides you to keep going. He gasps against your lips, moaning lowly over and over again as he pushes your hips down onto him fully.

You feel his cock twitch as he coats your insides white.

“Fuck.” You breathe out, rolling over to lay next to him, “That.. that was good.” Jeremy chuckles as he pulls the blankets up, “Yeah, it kinda was, wasn’t it?” He presses a kiss to your head, “I really am going to work to protect you. I don’t want to see you get hurt ever again.”

“Getting hurt is almost inevitable, Jer.” You lay your head on his chest and he sighs, “Not if I can help it.”

𐙚 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𐙚

[klaroveins]

“Lola why are you such a big fan of Caroline in season 1?”

Because she was a teenager. She was a 17 year old girl with an emotionally distant mother, an absent father who left for his husband, her two best friends rarely took her seriously, she was abused and compelled by Damon (which her friends knew about yet did nothing until later) and Matt, who was supposed to be her boyfriend, was still in love with Elena and couldn’t devote himself fully.

She was 17 and had no one to turn to, she had no true friends or an actual parental figure. She was a pawn in their games for ages, in season 2 she was being manipulated and abused by Katherine as a baby vampire. Once again, her 2 supposed best friends were aware of this.

She was seen as a blonde distraction for Klaus, yet he was the only one who saw past the mean girl cheerleader bully everyone made her out to me and saw the girl beneath the facade - the girl who simply longed to be loved.

But also, she was the perfect representation of a teenage girl. She was blunt, but most teenagers tend to be. She gossiped, she cheered but she had deeply rooted insecurities like most girls do. She was a realistic teenage girl in the midst of supernatural drama and people over look it frequently.

Caroline Forbes you deserve better than what the shitty writing team did to you, I’ll never hate you.

[r-memberme]

you must be haunting me | k.m

⎯⎯Her lips are close enough to brush his as she whispers, “Tell me, Niklaus… what will you do if I don’t run this time?”

warnings: smut, 18+, Klaus being a munch, this is a heavy one

part I part II

The path winds like a silver wound through the woods, forgotten by time, remembered only by ghosts. Klaus walks it like a man spellbound, hunted by the echo of something he can no longer name. The night swells with silence again, broken only by the echo of her laugh—low, distant, taunting. A laugh not meant to mock, but to tempt.

He follows. Of course he does.

There are no stars above, only the sickle of a moon, veiled by drifting clouds. But he sees her anyway. Standing on the threshold of an old stone cottage veiled in ivy and moonlight. Her back is to him, but he knows every line, every breath, every ghost of a movement.

She doesn’t turn, even as he stops behind her.

“You led me here,” he rasps, his voice torn and scorched. “I’ve bled myself dry chasing ghosts, and still—you remain.”

"And yet," she replies, finally glancing back, her eyes molten in the dark, “you’re here.”

The door creaks open beneath her touch, and for a moment, she looks over her shoulder—not an invitation, but a challenge. Her lips curve. That same not quite a smile, not quite a secret.

Klaus doesn’t hesitate.

They’re barely through the door before it slams shut behind them. The air inside crackles with something electric, alive. Rain still clings to the windows, and a fire crackles faintly in the hearth, throwing their shadows wildly across the room.

"You never make it easy," he mutters as she walks ahead, slow, deliberate. Teasing.

"And you never make it boring," she tosses over her shoulder.

He catches her wrist again, spinning her around, but her smirk doesn’t falter. She stares at him like she knows every unspoken word trembling behind his teeth. And still, she waits for him to say it.

But Klaus isn’t made for patience tonight. Not after the hunt, the heat, the way she keeps slipping through his fingers like silk.

“You look at me like you want to be ruined,” he murmurs, voice thick with reverence and rot. “So let me do it properly.”

His hand finds her face like a man blind in a dream—fingertips trembling against her jaw, tracing the path of something long-lost, long-craved.

His fingers brush her jaw like they’re reading scripture. “You’re not heaven. You’re not salvation,” he says. “You’re the altar I’ll burn on.”

There’s a tremor in the air between them now, thick as honey, sharp as glass. She steps into him, her hands pressed lightly to his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, then the back of his neck.

Her lips are close enough to brush his as she whispers, “Tell me, Niklaus… what will you do if I don’t run this time?”

He doesn’t answer. He just moves.

Lips crashing, breath stolen, hands lost in the desperate worship of touch. Her back hits the wall as laughter dances between kisses—soft, sharp, electric. He fumbles with the buttons of her coat, she with the collar of his shirt, both too caught in the storm to care for grace. His hands roam like he’s searching for the sacred—each touch a psalm, each sigh a prophecy.

“You’re impossible,” she gasps against his mouth.

“And you’re cruel,” he growls, nipping at her jaw. “But I’d still let you destroy me.”

She laughs again—hoarse, breathless, delighted. “You were doomed the moment you saw me,” she breathes. “And I’ve been burning ever since.”

The fire snarls higher in the hearth as they move—clumsy, desperate, divine. Shadows writhe on the walls like jealous gods. Her hand curls into his shirt as he lifts her into his arms, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, her fingers buried in his curls.

“This is sin,” she whispers.

“Then bless it,” he says.

His words break whatever fragile restraint had still held her back, and she surges forward, catching his lips, stealing his breath. There are no more secrets between them. No more games. No more walls.

She pulls away to breathe, her eyes meeting his—dark and wild and burning with the kind of want that makes his blood sing. Her gaze drifts lower, tracing his throat, the unbuttoned line of his chest, the curve of his mouth where her taste still lingers.

For a moment, neither of them moves. For a moment, it seems like the world holds its breath.

Then, his mouth curves. Slow. Sinful.

Hers follows.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a dare.

He takes a step forward, and she steps back—not in retreat, but in invitation. She leads him further into the room, until her spine meets the wooden edge of the table, the firelight flickering behind her, catching in the strands of her hair like flame.

He cages her in, one hand braced beside her head, the other finding her waist, thumb brushing over the curve of her hip like he’s memorizing her inch by inch. She tilts her head just slightly, baring her throat to him in a gesture that is half challenge, half surrender.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, lips ghosting along her jaw, “and I might forget how to be gentle.”

Her voice is a breath against his skin. “And what makes you think I want you to be?”

That’s all it takes.

His mouth finds hers again—deeper now, slower, like he means to savor every second of this unraveling. His fingers slide into her hair, tilting her head just so, and she melts into him, every barrier fallen. Her hands tug at his shirt, impatient, desperate, but still trembling slightly—still not quite believing this is real.

Klaus presses closer, the full heat of his body flush to hers, and the way she gasps into his kiss sets something alight in him. Her lips part under his, soft and wanting, and he takes—oh, how he takes—but gives just as fiercely.

She tangles her fingers in his curls, tugging until he growls against her mouth.

“You drive me mad,” he whispers, the words dragged from somewhere low and aching. “Utterly, beautifully mad.”

“And still,” she murmurs, lips grazing his cheek, “you keep coming back.”

“Always,” he promises, hands now at the hem of her blouse, slipping beneath. “Until you beg me not to.”

Her breath shudders. “What if I never do?”

His eyes darken, his restraint fraying. “Then I’ll never stop.”

His hands find skin—warm, soft, sinfully inviting—and she arches into his touch like it’s instinct, like her body already knows what her heart refuses to admit. Their mouths meet again, hungrier now, messier, full of teeth and tongues and heat.

She pulls him down with her, breathless, laughing softly against his lips as her back hits the table. His hand slides beneath her thigh, lifting, pressing, anchoring her to him as his name slips from her mouth—broken, reverent, aching.

He shudders. “Say that again.”

Her fingers trail over his stomach, up his chest, curling in his hair. Her smile is a wicked, tempting thing.

She whispers his name, and he kisses it away.

His fingers trail along her hip, over the waistband of her pants, the curve of her thigh. Her hands tighten in his hair, and her lips part beneath his—open, wanting, breathless.

She doesn’t have to speak. He hears her anyway.

Here, now, please

She writhes against him, his name still falling from her lips like a plea, and he aches for her.

His hands find the button of her pants, her gaze locked on his as his fingers dip just beneath the fabric. She arches up, a gasp catching in her throat, her eyes half-closed with wanting.

He wants to claim her—mind, body, soul—until even the stars remember her name

His hands hook into the waistband, and she lifts her hips to meet him, eyes never leaving his.

He tugs them lower, down her thighs, her knees, her calves, and drops them carelessly to the floor. His mouth finds hers again, his tongue sliding over her bottom lip, and her legs curl around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pulls back, just far enough to drink her in. She looks like a goddess, painted in firelight, hair a halo of curls, cheeks flushed, lips bruised and bitten and wanting.

His. All his.

He stares down at her like a man on the edge of a grave, reverent and ravenous. “You’ve always been the beginning of the end.”

A wicked smile curves his mouth.

Slowly, deliberately, he sinks to his knees.

Her breath leaves her in a rush. Her fingers curl into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He presses his mouth to the curve of her knee, teeth grazing her inner thigh, and she arches off the table. His hand slides up her leg, her calf resting on his shoulder, and he looks up to find her watching him with hooded eyes.

He meets her gaze, holds it. He wants her to see the truth.

His tongue traces patterns over her skin, his lips marking a path higher, and she writhes against the table. The hand still tangled in his curls tugs harder, and his groan reverberates against her, a broken prayer.

His mouth worships her like a man lost to hunger and heaven both—tongue slow, deliberate, cruel. Fingers slip inside her like secrets long buried, like sins spoken in the dark. She arches beneath him, a prayer and a curse all at once.

Her hips lift, helpless, like some ancient rite pulling her into the fire. His name tears from her throat—not a name, a summoning.

Her taste coats his mouth like wickedness—like war. He licks deeper, slower, as if dragging her down with him.

He doesn't hold back. Doesn't bother with patience. He just watches her, taking in every breath, every sigh, every arch and gasp and plea. Watches the way her hips lift to meet him, her spine curves off the table, her hands clench, searching for something, anything to ground her.

His hands find her waist, pressing her down, holding her still, and he drinks in the way she trembles beneath his touch. He knows she's close. He can see it in the way her lashes flutter, feel it in the way she strains against him, hear it in the way her breath hitches, her voice breaking.

She moans, not softly, not shyly, but like something holy cracking wide open.

His tongue is relentless, circling like temptation, teasing like fate with a cruel hand

He doesn't stop. He doesn't let her fall.

Her eyes fly open, wild and dark and full of fire, and a strangled laugh escapes her, sharp, hoarse, broken.

"Klaus..."

Please don't stop

"Niklaus please"

His hands tighten on her hips, fingers digging into her skin, and she doesn't hold back anymore.

Her eyes flutter shut like curtains before a storm, her body a symphony of surrender. His name breaks from her lips like a spell, unmaking her, remaking her in fire and trembling devotion.

His name. Just his name.

It builds like stormlight in her veins, something ancient rising to meet him. “Don’t stop,” she gasps—and he doesn’t. His tongue moves like punishment, like promise.

She trembles beneath him, not from exhaustion—but from the knowing. That nothing will ever touch her the way he does. That he is both ruin and resurrection.

He pulls back, and a breathless laugh falls from her lips.

"Well," she whispers, a smile in her voice. "That was..."

"I haven’t even started,” he whispers, his voice reverent, like a vow carved in fire.

His hands settle at her waist, her hips, and he lifts her easily, turning to press her back against the wall. Her legs wrap instinctively around him, and her smile widens as she meets his gaze.

"Impatient," she accuses.

"Always," he growls.

Her hand slides between them, and he groans, burying his face in her neck. She tugs lightly at his belt, the buttons of his jeans, and it's not long before they join her own discarded clothes on the floor.

When he enters her, it’s not gentle—it’s sacred desecration. Her gasp is not pain—it’s history repeating itself in blood and heat.

He moves like the breaking of something holy—slow, ruinous, steady as moonlight bleeding through stained glass. Each thrust burns into her bones, etching his name into places no one else will ever touch.

“I’ve waited lifetimes for this,” he growls, buried inside her like sin carved into bone.

She takes him in with a breathless arch, her body answering a question the universe has asked for centuries.

Her hand curls around the back of his neck, holding him close, and he doesn't hesitate. He doesn't pull away. His teeth graze her pulse, and her fingers clench in his hair, pulling harder.

He fucks her like he’s claiming something no man was ever meant to touch—like her body is both battleground and burial site.

Her eyes find his like mirrors of madness. He’s never known peace, only this—her breath caught beneath him, her body taking him like she was carved to bear his ruin.

"You're mine," he murmurs, kissing his way along her throat. "Mine."

Her hand lifts to his jaw, fingers splayed over his cheek. She's trembling again, her voice raw, wrecked. "Look at me."

He pulls back, just far enough for their eyes to meet, and everything slows. Everything stops.

"Yours," she breathes. "Only yours."

It's all he's ever wanted.

Her eyes never leave his as he kisses her, as his hips roll into hers, as his pace grows desperate, rough, almost painful. His name is a broken cry on her lips, and he swallows it whole. Her head falls back, and he buries his face in her neck, tasting her pulse, her skin, the salt and sweetness and fire.

“Say it,” he growls into her neck. “Say you were made for this—for me.”

Each thrust is a sentence, a command, a curse. He doesn’t move gently—he moves like prophecy tearing through skin.

“I was,” she breathes, nails carving down his back. “I was born a girl and died your sin.”

She falls apart beneath him like prophecy fulfilled. Her cries aren’t pleasure—they’re surrender. Her soul, breaking open, baptized in heat and hunger.

Her body shatters against him, a ruinous crescendo—like a cathedral collapsing in song.

She sobs his name into his shoulder, breathless and wrecked. It’s not prayer. It’s surrender.

“Yours,” she gasps. “Always yours.”

“Mine,” he growls, dragging her deeper. “Even in hell.”

He’s close—she can feel it in the way his hips stutter, the way his breath shatters against her collarbone. His grip tightens on her hips, bruising and desperate.

“God, you feel like—” He doesn’t finish. He chokes on it, teeth sinking into her neck like worship and war.

And then it happens—he spills into her with a broken sound that doesn’t sound like victory. It sounds like surrender. Like damnation laced with relief.

His whole body convulses, forehead pressed to hers, eyes squeezed shut. He moans her name like a vow—dragged from the pit of his soul and gasped into the open.

“Mine,” he whispers again. “Mine, even if the gods drag me into the dark for it.”

༊*·˚

They don’t speak. There are no words for this kind of ruin.

His hand finds her ribcage and stays there, like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm of her heart in case it ever stops again.

Like if it did, he’d know how to start it back up again with only his breath and the sound of her name.

She is quiet beneath him, utterly undone, the kind of still that comes only after storms—skin flushed, lips parted, hair tangled like a crown forged in fire and sweat.

He doesn’t move.

Not yet.

His body is still deep inside her, throbbing with the last pulses of his climax, twitching against the velvet ache of her walls. He can feel how wet they are, how raw, how warm. It’s a brand, not an embrace.

The mark of something unholy made holy by the fact that she let him do it. That she wanted him to.

A groan breaks from his chest, low and ruined. He presses his forehead to her temple, breathing her in like incense, like sin wrapped in skin and softness. His lips brush her hairline—then her cheek—then down to her throat, where he presses a kiss over the wild drum of her pulse.

"I'll never stop wanting this," he whispers, like a confession made at the gallows. "Even if it kills me. Especially if it does."

Her fingers twitch, sliding into his damp curls, curling at the nape of his neck. She pulls him closer, like she wants to carve him into her.

“You already died once,” she breathes. “So did I. Whatever this is—this ache, this madness—maybe it's all that's left of us.”

His hips shift just slightly, the motion dragging a broken gasp from her throat. Even now—after—he fits too perfectly, like something carved by fate and sharpened by fire.

A curse disguised as a man.

A vow made with teeth and tongue and thrust.

“I didn’t come here to love you,” she murmurs, her voice thin as silk and twice as dangerous. “I came to survive you.”

He laughs, ragged, against her throat. “And now?”

She closes her eyes. “Now I’ll burn with you.”

He’s moving again, slow and greedy, grinding deeper into the mess of her, his breath catching at the feel of it—all heat and slick and sorrow.

"You're still trembling," he says, voice husky, reverent. "And you're still inside me," she answers, with a wicked, breathless smile.

He groans again—less man than myth—and thrusts once, hard and deep. She chokes on a moan, clutching his back like she’s drowning in him.

"Again?" he whispers, like a dare, like a promise.

She nods.

And so he ruins her a second time—slower now, like he's memorizing a hymn, like he’s reading every part of her that no one else will ever touch again. This isn’t just lust. It’s devotion.

It’s grief. It’s the price for every lifetime he didn’t have her.

He makes love to her like the world already ended and she’s all that’s left. And when he comes again, it's quieter—no shout, no snarl, just a low, shattered breath against her collarbone, his body curling into hers like a vow.

A ruinous, eternal vow.

sooooo.....hah...what are we thinking?

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