Instinct - TVD - Stefan/Elena
Title: Instinct
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Stefan/Elena
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money off this.
Word Count: ~2,300
Warnings: Bloodplay, rough sex, vampire!Elena.
Summary: Everything is different now. Stefan and Elena wind up in the woods together, playing a game of hunter and prey. PWP.
Notes: Written for softly_me's prompt, the curse that falls on young lovers: starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters, at the Petrova Fire Comment Ficathon. Beta'd by opheliahyde.
Elena runs through the woods, her feet light and soft against the ground, hardly disturbing the twigs or leaves on the dirty floor (unless she wants to, to draw Stefan out, direct his attention one direction while she moves in the other). She moves through the trees like she’s been doing it her whole life, slips past all barriers as if the forest itself is parting for her.
(It started as a way to calm her down, to center her, because everything is amplified now and her mind is screaming every minute; it feels like there are too many emotions for her body to contain, constantly trying to explode out of her skin with vicious, gnawing hunger always closest to the surface and it’s simply too much. And then Stefan grabbed her by the shoulders and told her he was going to run and she was going to chase him.
It was the single most beautiful solution in the world, made perfect sense on a level she couldn’t explain and when he blurred into the forest, she took off after him on pure instinct.)
That was at the start of this, though, and things have shifted.
Stefan chases her, too.
Stefan is the shadow-step behind her, creeping up on her. She can’t see him-he’s quiet, and subtle enough (he’s good at this and he doesn’t get nearly enough chances to show it off) so she can barely feel his presence, but Elena knows he’s there in the darkness (with her); if she stands still for a long enough time, she can almost feel his fingertips on her spine like a gust on the wind, there one minute and gone the next.
Maybe he was.
She likes this, this game they play (but it’s not a game, it’s dangerous, the lines aren’t firmly drawn and they’re fuzzy at the edges-someone could get hurt and that’s sort of the objective, isn’t it?), looking for each other in the woods tonight; it ratchets up the tension, sets her senses on high alert and her teeth on edge, gives her a focus.
She runs faster, feints left then goes right, zig-zags into corners and behind trees, and darts around in crazy, nonsense formations. She doesn’t make this easy on him, she’ll make him use all his abilities, make him work for this---she’s hunting him, too, and she jumps up and disappears into the trees, waiting for Stefan to slip up.
It was supposed to be something to calm her down, but it’s more than that now (it’s always been more than that)-it’s a wild kind of abandon, free and reckless, and it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything else but the hunt, but Stefan. She’s hungry, they both are, this primal craving beneath both their skins (everything is amplified), pulling and tugging and crying out for more and so they keep on (this helps Stefan, too).
She drops down from the trees and lands silently behind Stefan when she has him in her sights (he’s faster than this, this is deliberate). Elena shoves him face first into a tree until she has him pressed up against it, her body aligned with his. It’s not a hard shove, but Stefan gives an aborted shout of surprise anyway (she always takes him by surprise, hasn’t quite adjusted to all these changes yet). She wraps an arm around his sternum, holding him tight to her and slips her hand beneath his shirt, her fingers inching just under his jeans. Elena nuzzles the back of his neck, breathes him in deeply (he’s already floating around in her), kisses his warm skin. Stefan shudders and takes deep, controlled breaths, standing still like he’s waiting to see what she’d do.
“Don’t hold back with me,” she whispers, “I’m not going to break.” He hasn’t totally realized that yet.
She nips him on the ear and darts back into the woods, loses herself in the trees.
Come and get me, Stefan.
Stefan obeys and Elena doesn’t get very far when he pounces on her, picking her up swiftly and pinning her against a tree, arms held over her head. “Is this what you want?” He hisses through gritted teeth, his voice a low rasp.
Elena smiles and hooks her legs over his hips-that should speak for itself. She pushes him closer and moans softly as he kisses her throat, lips trailing gently across her veins and arteries-but it’s not enough. It’s not a particularly hard grip (what did I say, Stefan?) and Elena slips out of his hands easily, curls her fingers in Stefan’s hair and pulls him off suddenly, wants his mouth on hers instead (but it’s not close enough, not enough, she wants more).
He adjusts effortlessly, his hands gripping her hips instead and his mouth warm and hungry against her; Elena makes a low, approving growl in her throat (not enough). She arches her hips (wants to feel him straining for her) and runs her tongue over his teeth (they’re still normal and blunt, not like her sharpened canines, Stefan is always so much well-put together than Elena), Stefan shaking with want and no, she won’t have that. She won’t have Stefan trying to hold himself back (old habit die hard and she’s trying to break him of it), those days are over.
It always feels like Stefan is crawling beneath her skin, like he’s the hunger trying to push its way out. Stefan breaks her open, broke her open until now she’s this (it’s only fair she’d do the same).
She breaks the kiss, ignores the look of confusion on his face.
“No,” she moans, and bites him on the jaw, hard enough to draw blood (she enjoys the sharp flavor of it, the yelp he makes, the way he shudders and rears back in surprise far more than she should).
“C’mon, Stefan, let me see,” she says, placing her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. “It’s okay, this is for you, too, you know.”
(She told him once not to hide from her and she wants everything he has to give, she just wants something to give)
“Elena, no,” Stefan begins, like he’s trying to argue with her but his voice is trembling and his eyes are wide and fervent and not quite sane. “You have to-I can’t-god.” Stefan shakes his head and Elena doesn’t know what for (she’s pretty sure he doesn’t know either), but she can see dark veins blooming around his eyes, under her fingertips.
Stefan presses his lips to hers, but doesn’t kiss her, lingering there. He grits his teeth and breathes in deep, says her name in this ragged tone. Elena makes a soft humming noise; “Yeah,” she mummers and she’s not sure what she means, but she bites down on his bottom lip, pierces the skin and laps at the blood (he’s sweet, but it’s not enough) and Stefan moans for her.
“I want,” she whines and she can’t finish her sentence, she just wants, wants him, her body aching, slick and throbbing and ready. She licks his fangs and Stefan responds with a low groan and rocks into her, eyes rolling back; she gasps at the friction (oh god, more), can feel his cock hot and heavy in his jeans and on impulse she reaches down to tug roughly at the fabric. It’s difficult from this angle, with her legs wrapped around him, their position precarious, and the balance between them is getting shaky. She gets frustrated easily, so sick of waiting and snarls as she rips the fabric apart and finally gets a hand on his cock, stroking a bit more roughly than she usually does.
(She wants to tear him apart and see what’s beneath; it’s okay, Stefan, I can take it, I won’t break)
And then he surges, lunges into her with this animal noise in his throat, and her back hits the tree painfully, bark digging into her spine and she doesn’t care (she’s going to break him of this habit). The kiss he gives her is needy and frantic, his hands on her face and they’re trying devour each other, she’s sure of it. It feels like she can’t breathe, like she’s going to choke, dizzy with the taste of him and his blood, spinning out into oblivion and she doesn’t want this to stop.
His hips buck against her, pumping into her hand with soft grunts and it’s not enough, she wants more; she wants to rip into his throat and drink deep until she can’t get him off her tongue and all her clothes feel too constricting now, like they’re trying to suffocate her.
“Fuck me,” she says (demands) and he lets go of her, abruptly pulling away so her feet are now flat on the ground. She almost cries out at the loss, but he’s shoving his pants down properly and oh, finally. Elena moves to pull of her own shirt and bra-it’s suddenly more difficult than it usually is and she winds up tearing it-and Stefan rips open her pants in a frenzied motion, pulls aside her underwear and gets one finger, then two deep inside her.
Elena gives a loud, shameless cry and spreads her legs wider, pushing into his fingers and please, please please. He has his thumb on her clit now and he’s mouthing at her shoulder, his fangs are pressing in, but not quite tearing the skin yet, still hesitating and fuck this, she’s not going to hesitate.
“Yeah, c’mon, Stefan, fuck,” she whines deep in her throat. She can’t think outside of this, can’t think beyond the pulsing need in her skin and Stefan’s hands and blood. Elena shoves her legs up, tries to get back into position. Stefan takes the hint and the first thrust inside feels like something breaking in her.
(she’s trying to break him)
They’re going to tear each other apart and she thinks they’ve already have-she wasn’t this girl a year ago, two years ago (or maybe she’s always has been and everything that’s happened to her pushed it to the forefront, and is it any wonder she wound up here?).
Now she’s someone who bites down on her boyfriend’s skin while he fucks her, watches the blood well out and driving him harder, deeper into her, hips snapping desperately into hers. Stefan is making these deep guttural noises and low growls and Elena has her head thrown back and her legs wrapped tight around his waist.
“Yeah,” she moans, her breath coming in ragged pants if at all, and she can’t even see straight, everything is too much; she can feel him everywhere, at the base of her spine and deep in her bones.
(she let this get all twisted up, both of them did-love all tangled up with instincts and desires, the need to hunt and kill and feed building upon another but that’s just how she feels every day)
She digs her nails into his back, slicing through the cloth of his shirt and decides to tear it off. She wants to reach inside him and drag out everything he hides away-all his instincts and hunger (hers too)-just for her, she wants that. All of it is just bubbling on the surface for Elena bring up and she wants him scrapped raw and open for her, wants every piece of him.
She claws at his back and there’s blood in between her nails now, his blood (he’ll always be in her). Stefan groans as she does so, throws his head back and it’s the perfect opening for her to lunge at his throat and sink in her fangs.
Stefan stills for a moment and that would bother her (god, don’t stop) but she groans as his blood hits her tongue, thick and hot (it’s not human blood, of course-it won’t keep her alive but she likes the taste, all the same). It’s strong and heady and pungent, like honey in her mouth and it’s not like it’s the first time she’s drank his blood, but she loves it every time, wants it over and over, craves Stefan every which way she can. She’s not letting him go (she supposes he’s hers forever now) and Elena doesn’t know how to describe the near-violent possessive feelings she gets about Stefan (she didn’t used to feel this way, everything is amplified), how she wants every part of him, take him all in, how she’ll snarl and claw to get what she wants.
She never really lasts long-Elena is already bursting with want and need and hunger, about to explode with it, she can’t contain it-and when she comes it feels like she being burned from the inside, her body shivering and skin alight.
He pulls her away from his neck by her hair then, and kisses her fiercely, licking the blood out of her mouth and off her chin, and moaning as he does so, swallowing down her whimpers; his body is shaking now, thrusts growing erratic and she knows this, knows what’s going to happen.
“Stefan, look at me,” she manages to gasp out and he does (always does, never refuses her) and she watches him fall apart with awe, mouth bloody and eyes red and utterly vulnerable, exposed and groaning deeply. Elena takes it all in, savors every minute of it.
After, her body’s sore (but that’s normal and fades quickly) and Stefan slumps against her. He’s kissing the side of her neck, gently now, murmuring soft words she’s too tired to understand, but she knows what he means anyway. Elena wraps her arms around his shoulders-she doesn’t think she can hold herself up and they fall to the ground together.
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Stefan/Elena
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money off this.
Word Count: ~2,300
Warnings: Bloodplay, rough sex, vampire!Elena.
Summary: Everything is different now. Stefan and Elena wind up in the woods together, playing a game of hunter and prey. PWP.
Notes: Written for softly_me's prompt, the curse that falls on young lovers: starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters, at the Petrova Fire Comment Ficathon. Beta'd by opheliahyde.
Elena runs through the woods, her feet light and soft against the ground, hardly disturbing the twigs or leaves on the dirty floor (unless she wants to, to draw Stefan out, direct his attention one direction while she moves in the other). She moves through the trees like she’s been doing it her whole life, slips past all barriers as if the forest itself is parting for her.
(It started as a way to calm her down, to center her, because everything is amplified now and her mind is screaming every minute; it feels like there are too many emotions for her body to contain, constantly trying to explode out of her skin with vicious, gnawing hunger always closest to the surface and it’s simply too much. And then Stefan grabbed her by the shoulders and told her he was going to run and she was going to chase him.
It was the single most beautiful solution in the world, made perfect sense on a level she couldn’t explain and when he blurred into the forest, she took off after him on pure instinct.)
That was at the start of this, though, and things have shifted.
Stefan chases her, too.
Stefan is the shadow-step behind her, creeping up on her. She can’t see him-he’s quiet, and subtle enough (he’s good at this and he doesn’t get nearly enough chances to show it off) so she can barely feel his presence, but Elena knows he’s there in the darkness (with her); if she stands still for a long enough time, she can almost feel his fingertips on her spine like a gust on the wind, there one minute and gone the next.
Maybe he was.
She likes this, this game they play (but it’s not a game, it’s dangerous, the lines aren’t firmly drawn and they’re fuzzy at the edges-someone could get hurt and that’s sort of the objective, isn’t it?), looking for each other in the woods tonight; it ratchets up the tension, sets her senses on high alert and her teeth on edge, gives her a focus.
She runs faster, feints left then goes right, zig-zags into corners and behind trees, and darts around in crazy, nonsense formations. She doesn’t make this easy on him, she’ll make him use all his abilities, make him work for this---she’s hunting him, too, and she jumps up and disappears into the trees, waiting for Stefan to slip up.
It was supposed to be something to calm her down, but it’s more than that now (it’s always been more than that)-it’s a wild kind of abandon, free and reckless, and it’s getting harder and harder to focus on anything else but the hunt, but Stefan. She’s hungry, they both are, this primal craving beneath both their skins (everything is amplified), pulling and tugging and crying out for more and so they keep on (this helps Stefan, too).
She drops down from the trees and lands silently behind Stefan when she has him in her sights (he’s faster than this, this is deliberate). Elena shoves him face first into a tree until she has him pressed up against it, her body aligned with his. It’s not a hard shove, but Stefan gives an aborted shout of surprise anyway (she always takes him by surprise, hasn’t quite adjusted to all these changes yet). She wraps an arm around his sternum, holding him tight to her and slips her hand beneath his shirt, her fingers inching just under his jeans. Elena nuzzles the back of his neck, breathes him in deeply (he’s already floating around in her), kisses his warm skin. Stefan shudders and takes deep, controlled breaths, standing still like he’s waiting to see what she’d do.
“Don’t hold back with me,” she whispers, “I’m not going to break.” He hasn’t totally realized that yet.
She nips him on the ear and darts back into the woods, loses herself in the trees.
Come and get me, Stefan.
Stefan obeys and Elena doesn’t get very far when he pounces on her, picking her up swiftly and pinning her against a tree, arms held over her head. “Is this what you want?” He hisses through gritted teeth, his voice a low rasp.
Elena smiles and hooks her legs over his hips-that should speak for itself. She pushes him closer and moans softly as he kisses her throat, lips trailing gently across her veins and arteries-but it’s not enough. It’s not a particularly hard grip (what did I say, Stefan?) and Elena slips out of his hands easily, curls her fingers in Stefan’s hair and pulls him off suddenly, wants his mouth on hers instead (but it’s not close enough, not enough, she wants more).
He adjusts effortlessly, his hands gripping her hips instead and his mouth warm and hungry against her; Elena makes a low, approving growl in her throat (not enough). She arches her hips (wants to feel him straining for her) and runs her tongue over his teeth (they’re still normal and blunt, not like her sharpened canines, Stefan is always so much well-put together than Elena), Stefan shaking with want and no, she won’t have that. She won’t have Stefan trying to hold himself back (old habit die hard and she’s trying to break him of it), those days are over.
It always feels like Stefan is crawling beneath her skin, like he’s the hunger trying to push its way out. Stefan breaks her open, broke her open until now she’s this (it’s only fair she’d do the same).
She breaks the kiss, ignores the look of confusion on his face.
“No,” she moans, and bites him on the jaw, hard enough to draw blood (she enjoys the sharp flavor of it, the yelp he makes, the way he shudders and rears back in surprise far more than she should).
“C’mon, Stefan, let me see,” she says, placing her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. “It’s okay, this is for you, too, you know.”
(She told him once not to hide from her and she wants everything he has to give, she just wants something to give)
“Elena, no,” Stefan begins, like he’s trying to argue with her but his voice is trembling and his eyes are wide and fervent and not quite sane. “You have to-I can’t-god.” Stefan shakes his head and Elena doesn’t know what for (she’s pretty sure he doesn’t know either), but she can see dark veins blooming around his eyes, under her fingertips.
Stefan presses his lips to hers, but doesn’t kiss her, lingering there. He grits his teeth and breathes in deep, says her name in this ragged tone. Elena makes a soft humming noise; “Yeah,” she mummers and she’s not sure what she means, but she bites down on his bottom lip, pierces the skin and laps at the blood (he’s sweet, but it’s not enough) and Stefan moans for her.
“I want,” she whines and she can’t finish her sentence, she just wants, wants him, her body aching, slick and throbbing and ready. She licks his fangs and Stefan responds with a low groan and rocks into her, eyes rolling back; she gasps at the friction (oh god, more), can feel his cock hot and heavy in his jeans and on impulse she reaches down to tug roughly at the fabric. It’s difficult from this angle, with her legs wrapped around him, their position precarious, and the balance between them is getting shaky. She gets frustrated easily, so sick of waiting and snarls as she rips the fabric apart and finally gets a hand on his cock, stroking a bit more roughly than she usually does.
(She wants to tear him apart and see what’s beneath; it’s okay, Stefan, I can take it, I won’t break)
And then he surges, lunges into her with this animal noise in his throat, and her back hits the tree painfully, bark digging into her spine and she doesn’t care (she’s going to break him of this habit). The kiss he gives her is needy and frantic, his hands on her face and they’re trying devour each other, she’s sure of it. It feels like she can’t breathe, like she’s going to choke, dizzy with the taste of him and his blood, spinning out into oblivion and she doesn’t want this to stop.
His hips buck against her, pumping into her hand with soft grunts and it’s not enough, she wants more; she wants to rip into his throat and drink deep until she can’t get him off her tongue and all her clothes feel too constricting now, like they’re trying to suffocate her.
“Fuck me,” she says (demands) and he lets go of her, abruptly pulling away so her feet are now flat on the ground. She almost cries out at the loss, but he’s shoving his pants down properly and oh, finally. Elena moves to pull of her own shirt and bra-it’s suddenly more difficult than it usually is and she winds up tearing it-and Stefan rips open her pants in a frenzied motion, pulls aside her underwear and gets one finger, then two deep inside her.
Elena gives a loud, shameless cry and spreads her legs wider, pushing into his fingers and please, please please. He has his thumb on her clit now and he’s mouthing at her shoulder, his fangs are pressing in, but not quite tearing the skin yet, still hesitating and fuck this, she’s not going to hesitate.
“Yeah, c’mon, Stefan, fuck,” she whines deep in her throat. She can’t think outside of this, can’t think beyond the pulsing need in her skin and Stefan’s hands and blood. Elena shoves her legs up, tries to get back into position. Stefan takes the hint and the first thrust inside feels like something breaking in her.
(she’s trying to break him)
They’re going to tear each other apart and she thinks they’ve already have-she wasn’t this girl a year ago, two years ago (or maybe she’s always has been and everything that’s happened to her pushed it to the forefront, and is it any wonder she wound up here?).
Now she’s someone who bites down on her boyfriend’s skin while he fucks her, watches the blood well out and driving him harder, deeper into her, hips snapping desperately into hers. Stefan is making these deep guttural noises and low growls and Elena has her head thrown back and her legs wrapped tight around his waist.
“Yeah,” she moans, her breath coming in ragged pants if at all, and she can’t even see straight, everything is too much; she can feel him everywhere, at the base of her spine and deep in her bones.
(she let this get all twisted up, both of them did-love all tangled up with instincts and desires, the need to hunt and kill and feed building upon another but that’s just how she feels every day)
She digs her nails into his back, slicing through the cloth of his shirt and decides to tear it off. She wants to reach inside him and drag out everything he hides away-all his instincts and hunger (hers too)-just for her, she wants that. All of it is just bubbling on the surface for Elena bring up and she wants him scrapped raw and open for her, wants every piece of him.
She claws at his back and there’s blood in between her nails now, his blood (he’ll always be in her). Stefan groans as she does so, throws his head back and it’s the perfect opening for her to lunge at his throat and sink in her fangs.
Stefan stills for a moment and that would bother her (god, don’t stop) but she groans as his blood hits her tongue, thick and hot (it’s not human blood, of course-it won’t keep her alive but she likes the taste, all the same). It’s strong and heady and pungent, like honey in her mouth and it’s not like it’s the first time she’s drank his blood, but she loves it every time, wants it over and over, craves Stefan every which way she can. She’s not letting him go (she supposes he’s hers forever now) and Elena doesn’t know how to describe the near-violent possessive feelings she gets about Stefan (she didn’t used to feel this way, everything is amplified), how she wants every part of him, take him all in, how she’ll snarl and claw to get what she wants.
She never really lasts long-Elena is already bursting with want and need and hunger, about to explode with it, she can’t contain it-and when she comes it feels like she being burned from the inside, her body shivering and skin alight.
He pulls her away from his neck by her hair then, and kisses her fiercely, licking the blood out of her mouth and off her chin, and moaning as he does so, swallowing down her whimpers; his body is shaking now, thrusts growing erratic and she knows this, knows what’s going to happen.
“Stefan, look at me,” she manages to gasp out and he does (always does, never refuses her) and she watches him fall apart with awe, mouth bloody and eyes red and utterly vulnerable, exposed and groaning deeply. Elena takes it all in, savors every minute of it.
After, her body’s sore (but that’s normal and fades quickly) and Stefan slumps against her. He’s kissing the side of her neck, gently now, murmuring soft words she’s too tired to understand, but she knows what he means anyway. Elena wraps her arms around his shoulders-she doesn’t think she can hold herself up and they fall to the ground together.